


The Last Days of Winter

by bereniceofdale_archive (bereniceofdale)



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Slow Burn, Wonderfalls!AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-03-31
Packaged: 2018-03-13 01:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3363071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bereniceofdale/pseuds/bereniceofdale_archive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard Bowman is the not-so-common humble owner of The Esgaroth, struggling to pay the bills and keep his place on tracks. Until someday a student from the Mirkwood Academy brings his father to his restaurant, a beautiful man who might just change Bard's life, more than he could ever have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miryokae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miryokae/gifts).



> **PLEASE NOTE** that this is my very first fic, so you've been warned, read at your own risk xD I improved since then (at least, I dare hope so.) :) 
> 
> Okay so I actually did this, I can't quite believe it. I'd like to thank miryokae to who this fic is dedicated, for being such a supportive friend.  
> I hope you will enjoy reading this first chap as much as I did writing it!
> 
> This is actually my very first fic and I'm not a native English speaker. I'm sorry if there is such a lack of vocabulary, or if I used the wrong words at some point (hopefully I have a great Beta), I did my best with what I know. So please, be kind! :)
> 
> (Please note that the first and fourth chapters have not been edited yet, I'm sorry about that!)

The Esgaroth was a lovely little restaurant in a quiet street. From the outside, it looked like some forgotten old bar, only the cheerful lights gave an idea of the warm, welcoming atmosphere on the inside. By day, you could tell by looking through the window. Bard Bowman, the owner of the place, wished he could afford to repaint its facade, make it more appealing to the eye of the many people who didn't know his precious restaurant from its glorious years. Today, things were a bit more difficult, but he managed to keep their head out of the water thanks to the students of the prestigious Mirkwood Academy, or at least the one who dared to enter The Esgaroth for lunch. Instauring a special quick lunch service for students at probably been Bard's best idea since he managed the place on his own. 

“Da, two carbonaras for table six!” His daughter's voice took him out of his reverie.

“I'm on it, darling!” He answered, already gathering everything he needed. His restaurant's menu was not really gastronomic, but everybody seemed to love it that way. The food was good and the atmosphere friendly. That's why people came back. Sadly, new customers were getting rare, when they needed them most. Bard shook his head, concentrating on the pastas: he would have all the time in the world to worry about his financial status later tonight. 

Bard rang the little bell on the counter, and gave the two plates to his daughter with a smile. Sigrid was his eldest, who had just finished school and decided she wanted to work for their little family business. She had always loved cooking, like her parents, as well as the contact with people. Bard couldn't help but be glad she was there by his side, he had felt alone since the death of his wife, eight years ago. It was also the reason their usual clientele had left progressively: Bard guessed they couldn't have stand seeing him working like a ghost, since he couldn't afford -and had not wanted- any help. His wife had always been the soul of The Esgaroth, after all. He used to be a firefighter and help at the restaurant on the weekends, but he had given up on his formal job to keep his wife's place on tracks. Today, he loved working here as much as the first day when they had opened it together, and the pain of his loss had turned into the energy he needed to keep life in his wife's soul's home.

“Last shift, da!” Sigrid exclaimed as he looked up to the clock on the wall of the kitchen. 9pm. Good. The last shift was their favourite part of the day: there were less customers, they were most of the time not in a hurry and a bit tired too, just as the Bowmans were. If they were open to it, Bard loved talking a little with them. It was a pleasant way to end a hard day of work. The cook had a look in the dining room, resting his elbows on the counter. A couple was still eating their dessert, and a small family was just leaving. But no one came in. Fifteen minutes and they'll have to put the "CLOSED" pancart on. Bard let out a sigh of deception as Sigrid gave him a comforting look. Yeah, customers were definitely getting rare. It could not go on like this. 

“Don't worry da,” her voice was gentle, her eyes soft, “we'll be luckier tomorrow.”

Bard smiled thinly in return. 

“Aye. I guess we always are when my pretty face greets the customers,” he teased her with a grin.

“Your pretty face, mmh?” she insisted, raising an eyebrow in a fake sceptical way.

“Aye.”

All he got for answer was a small punch against his arm as he started laughing quietly. He straightened himself before giving a last look at the door. He'd better start cleaning: he didn't expect anyone to enter in the next ten minutes leading to the closing of the restaurant. But a little voice told him to wait, and thirty seconds later the soft sound of the entrance's bell made itself be heard, quickly followed by Sigrid's happy voice.

“Oh, good evening Legolas! ...sir”

Legolas? Bard's eyebrows frowned, perplexed. He had only came during lunch time for the last two months, what was he doing here at this time? Not that it caused Bard any problem. Bard had gained his most constant customer on the day he had added vegan dishes to the menu. Another good idea, as Legolas was a very polite and pleasant teenager, whose company was quite enjoyable. But tonight, there was someone else with him in The Esgaroth. The cook had a curious look in the room and that's only then, when he saw the man with Legolas, that he recalled the boy telling him three weeks ago that he would try to get his father here someday. The man looked a lot like his son. He was tall, taller than Bard himself, with long straight blonde hair, almost white, falling down his shoulders. He was wearing what Bard guessed was a very expensive grey suit, perfectly fitting his blue tie. He was also beautiful, if not stunning, there was no point in denying it. But above all things, he seemed quite out of place in the small old-looking restaurant. And giving to the look on his face, he was completely aware of it. 

Sigrid installed them at Legolas' usual table, right next to the kitchen's door, which allowed him to talk with Bard while he was working, before handing them the menu and going back checking on the couple near the window. As Bard washed plates, he could slightly hear Legolas' conversation with his father. 

“So, do you like it ada?” 

Silence followed for a few seconds.

“It's a little bit... rustic.”

The man's voice was deep. The kind of voice you could not interrupt. The kind of voice that imposed respect. Bard guessed the blonde teenager had just sighed, according to his exasperated tone.

“Wait 'till you've tasted the food, you'll forget how "rustic" the place is. I find it cosy.”

“Mmh.” He definitely wasn't convinced, apparently. Something in him screamed he wanted to be anywhere but here. 

_Yeah, wait 'till you've tasted the food, mister I'm-too-good-for-this-place_ , Bard thought, though with no hard feelings, a smile on his lips. He didn't even know the guy, after all, he wasn't going to judge after seeing him for one second and listening to one sentence he wasn't even suppose to know about in the first place. Bard went back to the plates while his daughter was taking Legolas and his father's orders. Drying his hands, he lent an ear. Soya cream mushrooms pastas for the boy and vegan lasagna for the dad. 

“Did you hear da?” asked Sigrid a little bit louder.

“Aye!”

And he got back to work while the young woman served them their drinks. When Bard was cooking, you could have sworn he was like dancing across the kitchen, that he was breathing his love for his job, completely in his element. As he cooked, he couldn't help but wonder how he could have thought for so many years that firefighter was his vocation, when he had always much more enjoyed working here than anything else. 

Twenty-five minutes later, the dishes were ready and Bard got out of the kitchen, finally saluting his last customers of the day. He was simply dressed, with an old jean and a not-so-white teeshirt after hours of work exposed to all kind of ingredients, his hair tied up in a messy bun.

“Good evening Legolas, good evening sir.” He said with genuine enthousiasm, posing the plates in front of them as Legolas smiled back and his father gave him a look he could not quite know how to take, his gaze going from the top of Bard's head to his feet. _Okay... who's judging now eh?_ Now that he was closer, Bard could have a better look at the man's face: he had icy-blue eyes, thick dark eyebrows and probably the prettiest face Bard had ever seen. He also noticed he hadn't take off his gloves, but he didn't pay much more attention to it. 

“Enjoy your meal!” The cook said before the man could answer, and went to his daughter who was now cleaning tables, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“What's so funny, darling?”

She chuckled.

“Nothing.”

“Mmh.”

Bard shrugged. She would tell him, he knew. Maybe she actually wanted to tell him just as much as he wanted to ask her what she thought of Legolas' dad, but the room was small enough for the two men to hear them. Having known the boy for two months now, they had imagined his father to be less... serious. But that's not why he approached her in the first place. 

“Have you seen Smaug?”

Sigrid gave a quick look around the place.

“Maybe he's already upstairs?”

“I...”

Bard's words were cut short by Legolas' father's cold voice, teinted with surprise.

“... is that a _cat_ on your knees?”

“Uh, yeah. He likes me.”

 _Damn fluffy cute cat_ , Bard thought as he went back to their table.

“Sorry. I can bring him back upstairs if he bothers you.”

Legolas smiled gently, answering before his father could.

“It's okay Bard, thank you. You know I love him.”

The cook gave a small nod of the head, ignoring the heaviness of the dad's gaze on him. Now he was _really_ judging him. Gods, this guy was never going to come back. Not that he cared but still, they needed customers. He gave the purring cat a murderous look, entered the kitchen once again, started to clean and payed no more attention to what father and son might be saying. It was not long before Sigrid came to him, obviously tired.

“Go check on your brother and sister, darling. I'll close, don't worry.”

She offered him a soft smile.

“Thanks, da.”

After Bard gave her a kiss on the forehead, she disappeared through the door leading to the appartement above the restaurant, leaving Bard on his own to end the day. The thought of his warm sheets gave him the strength to keep on cleaning. Occasionally, he had a look in the dining room, checking how things were going. They were almost done, Smaug was still on the teenager, almost sleeping, and Bard could absolutely not tell if Legolas' dad was enjoying his meal or not, his face as neutral as the moment he had entered The Esgaroth, though a little less snooty and some smiles lightening up his face as he talked with his son. Something was telling Bard he didn't have the occasion to do so very often, he looked like a busy man, which made the cook wonder what could be his job. Something that payed damn well, obviously. Unless he got all his money from heritage, but with such a suit, he doubted it.

The cook already prepared the bill, not wanting to make them wait once they would be finished. He remembered Legolas telling him he was not really into desserts, and Bard didn't have any vegan stuff anyway, even though he was working on it. Unless they wanted a simple fruit salad. He could do that, but he knew it was unlikely the tall man would order such a simple thing when he could probably do it himself at home. He knew he wouldn't, if he ever ate diner in restaurants. He didn't even remembered what it felt like to be the one getting good food served on a plate.

“Sir? The bill please?” It was serious dad's voice. He was right and just in time, then. It was also the first time the man adressed immediately to him. Next time he'll have him talking _and_ looking at him in the eyes.

“Comin'!”

Bard brought him the bill, always smiling. That was a part of his job, after all. He couldn't help but smile brighter when he saw the plates completely empty: a good sign, he guessed. 

“Did you enjoy your meal, gentlemen?”

“As good as usual, thanks!” said Legolas with a genuine smile and a look to his father, expecting him to say something, but he was too busy fixing the small piece of paper with frowned eyebrows, like if there was something wrong about it. The boy sighed. 

“ _Sorry,_ ” he whispered, “ _it was fine, ada just doesn't like to be proven wrong._ ”

Bard shrugged as answer, briefly tapping the teenager's shoulder before taking the plates and going away. Five minutes later the door bell was ringing one last time today, he heard both men saying goodbye, Legolas adding a kind "see you tomorrow" and he saw Smaug sneaking to the first floor like if he wasn't authorized to. Silence fell on The Esgaroth as the man finished cleaning the kitchen and the tables, letting Legolas's for the end. His mouth slightly dropped open as he took the bill in his hands. 

“Are you fucking serious.” 

Bard slapped himself mentally for being so rude, which was not in his habits, but the blonde had left a generous tip. A very generous tip. Their meal had cost them £25. There were £50 on his palm. That was the double. No one had ever done that before. Even when the restaurant was always full of people, years ago. He noticed then a little note on the bill, written in a beautiful handwritting, saying "you should charge more." _Yeah, and loose all my customers in the process, sure._ His prices had always seemed right to him. But Bard appreciated the gesture. He would make sure to thank him the next time he'd see him, which was suddenly much more likely to happen. The in apparence cold man had apparently more enjoyed the meal than he had looked so. 

When Bard went up the stairs to their appartement, the only light left was Sigrid's, at the end of the corridor. His two other children had probably been in bed for at least a hour or two now. As he always did after work, he entered Bain's room, gave him a sweet kiss on the forehead and wished him goodnight before doing the same to Tilda, staying a little longer with her, stroking softly her hair. She was deeply asleep, probably dreaming peacefully of gods knew what little girls dream of. Then finally, he went to Sigrid's room and leaned against the door frame.

“So, what was so funny?”

She looked up from her book, smiling. 

“Legolas' father.”

“What about him?”

She shrugged innocently. 

“He looked lost, out of his element. It made an amusing painting.”

Bard looked disappointed. He expected something better. Something funnier. But she had only been smiling, it was him who had jumped to that conclusion.

“He was also very beautiful, don't you think?”

“I'm sorry to tell you he's too old for you,” he said, raising an eyebrow as she rolled her eyes, “and I'm still the prettiest.”

“Sorry da, but...” she teased, “he's prettier than you.”

“You hurt me, darling” He took a fake outraged expression. “But yeah, I guess that's because I'm not pretty. I'm _gorgeous_.”

Sigrid couldn't help but smile. She knew he didn't mean a word of it, her dad had never hidden how common he thought he was, but it was a little teasing game between us since she had always told him about her friends at school saying such things of him.

“You're impossible, da.”

“I know.”

He finally entered the bedroom and kissed her on the cheek.

“Goodnight, love.”

After closing the door behind him, Bard went to the livingroom, where he slept. He had let the three bedrooms to his children after the death of his wife, not minding sleeping on the sofa, which was actually also a very comfortable bed. He had nothing to complain about. Except maybe of Smaug the cat, who enjoyed a bit too much sleeping on his chest, purring really loudly. It was almost impossible to believe the little beast had once been more savage than an actual dragon. But this was another story. Letting out a sigh of relief -he was so damn tired- Bard changed in the bathroom, looked briefly at him in the mirror, caressing the skin from the bottom of his neck to his right hip, gaze dark, and then put on a black short and a white teeshirt, hiding the view from his eyes. 

The warm sheets of the sofa bed were waiting for him. Sigrid's attention, for sure. She had always had a little thought for him when he let her finish work sooner. He slipped into the covers, quickly joined by Smaug who curled himself against him, looking for his palm to scratch him behind the ears. 

“Bad cat. Very bad cat. I hate you.” 

Not true, obviously. He just pretended to, giving the stupid smile on his face.

“What if he calls health care, eh? What should I do? Put you in the oven? What would you think about that?” he whispered to Smaug, like if he was talking to a person. A habit he had been used to for a few years now.

The big dark red cat looked up to him with innocent bright amber eyes. Sometimes Bard was happy he couldn't talk. There were enough little voices. So he kept on scratching his neck, making him purr even more.

That's how Bard felt asleep that night, mind filled with memories of the day as well as older ones, thinking about all the things he had to pay for, all the work that he had to do tomorrow, reminding himself to tell Legolas to thank his father for him, as he didn't know when he could do it himself. Though the truth was that he was very likely to forget about it in the action of the Wednesday lunch rush. They were particulary busy on Wednesdays, for some reason Bard hadn't quite put the finger on yet. But anyway, a little voice was telling him he hadn't seen the last of the man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed it! :D
> 
> I can also tell you that this Modern!AU is actually just a little bit more special than it looks. You'll understand what I mean in the next chapter. ;) It's quite weird, be warned, but some of you might know about it, especially if you love Lee Pace.
> 
> Bear with me, I'm a snail.
> 
> (you'll find me on Tumblr as breathingbarduil)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil Oropherion comes back to The Esgaroth.

As Bard had thought, lunch was too busy for him to actually tell Legolas to thank his father for him. He had been running through the kitchen all the time as the students didn't have as much time to eat as people had when they came to the restaurant in the evening. Sigrid had been taking the orders, and he kept wondering how she always managed to stay so calm when even he, after years of practice, couldn't quite handle the pressure of a rush as well as she could. She got that from her mother. Bard had a great self-control, he just got a bit clumsy, which was not really helpful when you carried plates and glasses.

But once again, the night shift was upon them. 

And once again, it was way too quiet. Actually, it was worse than the day before. The Esgaroth was empty. The last customers had left twenty minutes ago, leaving the small restaurant in the silence of the evening. Bard was sitting on one of the room's chairs, looking helplessly at the door. He buried his face in his rough hands, letting out a sigh. He sighed a lot, these days. The best thing he could do for the place was to repaint the façade. Maybe it would bring customers back. People prefered to enter Thorin Oakenshield's place, The Arkenstone, just across the street. It was more appealing. It looked good. Yes, just at looking at it, you wanted to eat inside. Who would enter the Bowmans' old restaurant when there was the refurbished Arkenstone just there? The food wasn't as good as here, everyone told him. Still, they were the ones having difficulties to pay the bills. All that because of appearances. All that because he had let himself go, years ago, when he shouldn't have. The man felt a soft hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. 

“It's okay, da. We'll find a way.”

“I thought it was my job to reassure you.” 

“You can't always take everything on yourself.”

Bard smiled thinly. He was going to answer that he didn't know if they would be able to keep The Esgaroth on tracks with just the lunch service, since the others were absolutely not as successful, and that even though he hated the idea, he was considering finding another job -because obviously, there was no other way, was it?- when the door finally opened. On Legolas. Again. And his father. Again. Bard slowly got up, looking at them without caring about hiding his relief. Two people were better than none. 

“Oh, good evening!”

“Hello again Bard!” said Legolas with enthusiasm as his father saluted him politely with a nod of the head. 

He hadn't expected them to be back so soon. It was a surprise. Not a bad one though. 

“Please, sit wherever you wish, I'll be back.”

Sigrid almost hopped to the kitchen while he gathered the menus with a grin on his face. He knew exactly what he had to say as he went back to the two men, now sitting at the same table as the day before.

“I thought my humble restaurant was too "rustic" for you, mister...?” Bard teased kindly under Legolas' amused gaze.

The tall man looked at him with piercing eyes.

“Oropherion. Thranduil Oropherion,” he started. “I'm sorry about that, sir. I should have learned a long time ago not to judge on appearances.”

Something was telling Bard two things: first, this guy didn't apologize very often, so he'd better remember this moment, and second, there was a double meaning in his words, if his fast look at Bard's attire was anything to go by. So, he smiled once again.

“Please, call me Bard. Your son does, after all.”

“Right. Bard. Nice to finally meet you.”

Legolas cleared his throat, glancing at both of them in a "okay nice, can we eat now?" way.

“Thank you for the tip, yesterday. It was very generous of you,” Bard quickly added, thanking the man. “What would you like to drink? It's on the house.”

For the first time, Mr Oropherion smiled directly at him. It was a thin smile, but a smile nonetheless, and it looked genuine. He was dressed in another expensive suit, light grey this time, but the tie was absent. The first two buttons of his shirt were undone, which made him look much more casual, without detracting from his kind-of lordly presence.

“It was nothing. I'll have a glass of red wine, please.”

“Water for me.”

Bard nodded, letting them have a look at the menu. He went to the bar, filling their glasses, still hoping for someone else to enter their restaurant. But as minutes passed, no one came in. Another sigh and Bard put the "CLOSED" sign out, just when Legolas caught his attention with a hand gesture. As he got in front of his two customers, eyes on Mr Oropherion, and opened his mouth to ask them what they had chosen, another voice made itself heard. To his ears only.

_“Tell him.”_

Bard's eyes left the blond man's face to glance incredulously at the ridiculous whale salt shaker on the table who had turned its head to look at him right in the eyes. _Oh no. Not now. And tell him what, exactly? That he looks like a king in the middle of a farm?_ Bard quickly drew his attention back to his customers, giving them a soft smile. The son apparently didn't notice, but the father was looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Erm, so, what can I get you tonight?” he asked, continuing as if nothing had happened.

“I'll have the lasagne, please,” said Legolas before looking at his dad whose long fingers, still in his gloves, were running across the menu as he was making his decision. Keeping his eyes on the page, he was ordering the creamy avocado pasta when...

_“Come on, tell him!”_

“Oh, shut up!” Bard exclaimed, exasperated, unable to retain himself. 

_Well, shit._ This time, the man raised both his eyebrows, taking an outraged expression that the cook was sure could turn into some sort of anger at any moment.

“Excuse me?” His voice, deep and low, was also as cold as ice. And according to Legolas' face, pissing off his dad was the last thing to do if you wanted to keep on living. Or keep all your body parts.

“Uh, I'm so sorry.” Gosh, that was so embarrassing. “I didn't mean to. I was talking to, uh, myself.”

Both of them didn't seem convinced at first, Mr Oropherion even more. But Bard had no actual good reason to be insulting, which played in his favour, as well as his grinning face. Legolas shrugged, knowing Bard better than that, which had the effect of relaxing his father.

“So, the lasagne, vegan obviously, and the creamy avocado pasta?” repeated Bard, making sure the whale, hopefully silent now, hadn't made him miss anything.

“That's it, yes.” The man confirmed, handing him back the menus, more stand-offish than before. 

“My daughter's cooking today.” _In case you're wondering why I'll stay in this room._

Legolas' father looked up to him, offering an interrogative face, not quite getting where he was coming from.

“We switch roles everyday,” he clarified. “But don't worry, she learned everything from me.”

“Oh.” _Yes, that's what he meant._ “I guess we have nothing to fear then.”

“Indeed.”

And he leaned slightly on the counter, informing Sigrid of their customers' orders. He could have helped her with the cooking, but she hated being helped when it was her turn, and most importantly, when she actually didn't need any help from him. If she did, she'd ask - she had made things pretty clear many times. So, he just sat behind the bar, drawing out a book from a drawer. He didn't pay any attention on father and son, concentrated on his reading and the kitchen behind him, listening to Sigrid's lovely low singing. A habit she got from him. 

“Tell him. Just sayin'.” 

It was the whale, once again. Bard didn't even look up, which had the desired effect: not another word came from it. The animals - or animal objects was more correct - had started talking to him a few weeks after his wife died, telling him to do things, and repeated themselves until he did what he was asked to do. He had thought he was going mad. Completely mad. Until he had listened, and from then on, things had actually gotten better. It was the animals who had told him to create a lunch service, by saying "what about the young ones", as well as to add a vegan part to the menu with "what's tofu?" He had thought "what the hell is that supposed to mean" and it had taken him a while to understand the messages. The most difficult thing about all this was acting normally. Especially when it happened so suddenly. Once, a customer had punched him in the face for doing exactly the same thing as a few minutes sooner. Apparently he hadn't learned the lesson.

“What's the _cat_ doing on the bar?” 

Mr Oropherion's deep voice rose up enough for him to be taken out of his thoughts. _Oh, indeed._ It wasn't an unusual sight for Bard, but well, he understood the man's surprise. Animals were not common in restaurants, even less on bars. 

“He's not allowed in the kitchen if that will make you feel better.” Bard answered without getting his eyes off his book, a passionate story about a boy becoming a dragon rider. His son Bain had insisted he read it, and he wasn't regretting his decision. The man said nothing more for a few seconds.

“Do you not fear health services?” It was Legolas' voice this time, though he was used to Smaug's presence. He was probably asking out loud what his father was thinking.

“Health services don't care about this place. We're too insignificant.” Bard pointed out. “They have no reason to come, unless someone calls them.”

He gave Mr Oropherion a fake worried "don't you do that please" look, to emphasize his words.

“And as I said, he never goes in the kitchen, so I don't see the problem. Didn't they open cat cafés somewhere?”

Sigrid chose that moment to ring the bell, forcing him to get back on his feet and drop his book. She handed him the plates with a smile, which he returned. It smelled damn good, and it looked good too. His daughter loved to make nice-looking presentations, particularly when she had the time to do so. The Oropherions' meals not only smelled delicious, they actually looked so good you just might not want to eat them.

“Here you are. Call me if you need anything.”

“We will, thank you.”

_“Tell. Him. You know about what.”_

Bard gave the whale a furious look he hoped none of the two blonds had seen. _No I don't. Could you be more specific please, that would be really helpful._ Then he went to the kitchen, intending to help Sigrid clean, which she couldn't refuse simply because he wouldn't let her. His children didn't know about the talking animals. It was too weird to be shared; he was the only one hearing them anyway and he could manage, there was no point in bothering them with such a thing. And to be completely honest, he didn't want them to think him mad. He was already really good at that. 

By the time they were finished, their customers were too, bringing Bard back to the room. As he was taking their plates, Mr Oropherion smiled slightly.

“My compliments to the chef.”

“I'll tell her, thank you,” he said, even though he knew Sigrid had heard and would have bet she was smiling like a beautiful idiot. “Do you need anything else?”

“Just the bill, si... Bard.”

When they disappeared through the door, the man had left another generous tip. The same as the day before. Bard couldn't quite understand the character, but he wasn't going to complain. They desperately needed money. But... there were further surprises to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, this is actually a kind of Wonderfalls!AU (because here the animals don't talk to Bard so that he helps people, it's them helping him) :3 For those who don't know about this show, it's from Bryan Fuller (Hannibal, Pushing Daisies) and there's Lee Pace in it, you should give it a try, it's crazy! 
> 
> I hope you didn't find it too weird, but I really wanted to add a special element to my fic and I've been thinking about the possibility of a Wonderfalls!AU for a while now. 
> 
> Next chapter will be much shorter but I promise you a 3000+ chapter 4! :)
> 
> (thanks a lot to my beta macabreromansu!)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's time for Bard to get some help to save his restaurant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A much smaller chapter, sorry! But the next one will be longer than the first, I promise! ;)  
> Thanks again to my beta macabreromansu :3

“Another job?”

“Aye.”

“But da, you're always working here,” Sigrid exclaimed. “You don't have time for another job!”

Bard's eyes fixed her gently. He knew that she meant he was already tired enough after taking care of the restaurant and his children, and didn't need something else to exhaust him. Every morning, he had to wake up early to get Sigrid and Bain out of bed, make them breakfast, bring them to school, then come back here and do the paperwork, before cleaning and prepare The Esgaroth for the lunch service. Then he had to clean, make sure all the stock were in order, pick up his younger kids after classes, spend some time with them and going back downstairs for the evening opening. He indeed had not time for another job.

“I would find a part time job, darling,” he tried to explain without looking too desperate. “I'd left the cleaning after lunch to you, go to work, and be back for six.”

“If you're trying to kill yourself, you could just tell me.” The young woman definitely didn't agree with his plan. 

“Sigrid...” He put a hand on her tensed shoulder, the other under her chin, making her look at him. “We need money. We have to do something about this place if we want to keep it. It would be just for a few months, then everything will be back to normal.”

Silence fell between them. 

“I promise.”

It was his daughter's turn to sigh. She smiled slightly, trying to look convinced, but Bard knew she had something else to say. And he could guess what it was, because it had weighed on his mind all the time since his decision had been made.

“What about Bain? And Tilda? Have you thought about Tilda?” His eyes answered for him. “You'll barely see them. They _need_ to see you.”

Oh, he knew. His gaze met the ground. If he had another solution, he would jump on it, he wouldn't let it go. He would do everything to see his children as much as possible. But there was no other solution. Or was there?

_“Tell him. Now.”_

At the exact moment he turned to look at the whale salt shaker he had brought back in the kitchen weeks ago, someone cleared their throat, and as father and daughter looked up, Mr Oropherion's face appeared in the door frame.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked, though as if he actually knew he was and wasn't even trying to hide it. 

“What can I do for you, Mr Orophe...?”

“I already told you to call me Thranduil.” 

His expression was clearly reminding him that he himself refused to be called with another appellation than "Bard".

“Aye, sorry,” Bard grinned.

Legolas' father had become almost as constant as his son, depending on his own availability. For the past month, he had came to The Esgaroth about three times a week, sometimes with his son, sometimes alone. He had even brought a woman with long red hair once or twice. He remembered her bursting out laughing when he had called her "Miss Oropherion" with the man's slightly embarrassed smile, before telling him their relationship was purely professional. She often came on her own for lunch, since then. 

“Maybe I shouldn't have, but I overheard your conversation,” Thranduil said unapologetically. “Perhaps I could help you.”

Bard crossed his arms on his chest, raising an interested eyebrow and giving Sigrid a quick look. He was a bit sceptical, though, and she was too. What could he offer? A cheque? He wouldn't say no to a cheque, if their situation was desperate enough. It almost was, but still. He hated accepting money without doing anything to earn it. And anyway, he doubted Mr Oropherion was that generous.

“You could cook for me. I would pay you w...”

“I think you missed the point.” Bard cut him. “I can't leave the restaurant. It's all we have.”

“Maybe if you had listened to everything I had to say, you wouldn't need to tell me something I already know.” Thranduil's gaze met his eyes, silently telling him to let him talk. “It would be temporary. And only on Mondays, when your place is closed. You'd be well paid, enough to pay your bills and save your restaurant.”

Mr Oropherion left his proposition in suspense, giving time to Bard and Sigrid to register the information. Both of them couldn't quite believe it. And the man wasn't even finished.

“You'd come for lunch, then stay for dinner.” Thranduil paused. “What would you think about that?”

“Uh I don't kno...” Sigrid gave him a dig of her elbow in the ribs. “Oï!”

_“Tell him!”_

_But tell him what for god's sake?!_ Light suddenly made its way in Bard's mind. _Oh._ Was that it? All this time, the whale salt shaker had wanted him to tell Legolas' father about his problems, and say yes to the generous help he was offering him? It made sense. Except that he missed that part, the chance had taken care of that for him. If he was wrong, he would know soon enough anyway. 

Of course, he was going to say yes. He would never have hoped for a better opportunity. But as a father, he couldn't help but think about how Mondays were the only day he could be completely available for Bain and Tilda. It was temporary, Mr Oropherion had said. And it was better than his own idea. Saying no was out of the question. Bard wondered why the man was offering him his help. He had no reason to do so. Was it because he liked his food that much to pay a lot for it? Because he liked them? Liked him? Or because he just wanted to be kind? Bard couldn't tell. It had no importance. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr Or... Thranduil. Thank you. That's very generous of you.”

“Thank you,” repeated Sigrid, maybe even more relieved than her father.

Bard didn't know what else to say. There were no other words for his gratitude, so he just smiled genuinely, extending his hand to the man. Thranduil looked at it for a few seconds, before reaching out to shake it with his own gloved one. Bard noticed only then that he had never seen the man taking them off.

“It's nothing,” he answered with a thin, reserved smile. “Do you have a piece of paper?”

“Uh, yes.”

Bard went to the bar, looking in the drawer where he kept his book. In there, there was a memo pad. He took one out and gave it to Mr Oropherion, who had followed him back in the dining room. He wrote down, with a pen probably more expensive than his most valuable belongings, in his beautiful handwriting; his address, the time he should be there and... how much he was going to get paid.

“Two hundred pounds?!” Bard exclaimed, unable to hide his surprise.

Thranduil raised a thick eyebrow.

“Is it not enough?”

“What, no! It's, uh... unexpected,” Bard said honestly, “I don't feel like I deserve it.”

“Worse cooks are paid as much as that, Bard.”

Yeah, maybe. He wasn't going to complain, he needed that money. So he shrugged and thanked the man once again, getting a contained, almost friendly smile in return. It woke an almost unperceivable warmth in Bard's chest, which he quickly forgot about as he went back to the kitchen with the paper in his hand, grinning at Sigrid who gave him another gentle punch in the arm. Maybe things were finally really going to be okay. And it was quite unbelievable.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bard's first day of work at Thranduil Oropherion's house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note this chapter has not yet been edited. I just didn't want to make you wait any longer, so I'm sorry for the mistakes you might find! Thank you so much for all the kudos and comments, they really mean a lot to me!

Thranduil Oropherion's house was huge. It was also gorgeous. The walls were white with big windows, decorated with engraved flowers and beautiful curves. The garden looked somptuous, full of colours, and was well taken care of. You could tell just at looking at his home how rich the man was. Bard had learned from Legolas that he used to be a successful lawyer, but didn't practice anymore. Which had made him wonder why Tauriel had talked of their relationship as "professional" until the teenager had explained Mr Oropherion always kept an eye on his old cabinet nonetheless. Bard had not asked why he had stopped, feeling it would have been inappropriate. After all, he wouldn't want anyone to ask him why he had let his firefighter career behind him. The subject belonged to the past, and old wounds were better left untouched, even though they didn't hurt as much as they used to.

Bard Bowman was standing in front of the door, hand raised to knock. He didn't know why he was hesitating. Maybe because the place was quite intimidating. Maybe because he had never been a personal cook, even once a week. Or maybe it was because both of these things. Or also because Mr Oropherion was gonna be there the all time, maybe talking to him, watching him. He made him feel a little bit uncomfortable. Legolas' father had such a strong presence. When he was in a room, Bard could do nothing but feel the heaviness of his gaze on him, feel like he was supposed to look at him from his knees. Yeah, Thranduil Oropherion had that kind of presence. The presence of a lord, or even a king. His success as a lawyer and his ability to make people look down when he wanted them to weren't that surprising.

Bard took a deep breath as he knocked on the wooden door. He expected a butler or something, but it was the blond man who opened - wearing simple clothes: some expensive jeans and a black shirt contrasting violently with the white blonde of his hair but not in bad way, a way that made him no less classy - welcoming him with a thin grin as he adressed him a shy "hello".

“Oh, it's you Bard,” he saluted the cook with a polite nod of his head, “please, come in.”

Bard didn't need to be told twice: it was still unpleasantly cold outside. Everyone wished Spring would come sooner than usual. The inside of the house was as somptuous as the outside. High ceiling, paintings, beautiful chandelier. The place breathed money and good taste. It was Bard's turn to feel completely out of place, with his old jeans and his old white shirt. 

“It's, uh... really nice.” Bard said with an unassured voice. “I mean it.”

“Thank you.” The man smiled slightly. “Follow me, I'm going to show you around.”

Bard nodded. Mr Oropherion brought him to the living room - huge and filled with comfortable-looking sofas, the biggest television he had ever seen, shelfs full of books and blu-rays - showed him the bathrooms, a bedroom in case he would need to stay for the night someday, and finally the kitchen. Actually bigger than the one in his restaurant. Gods. 

“I hope I didn't have to bring anything?” he said to prevent his mouth from hanging open. 

“There's everything you need.” Mr Oropherion reassured him. “So, there's only me here for lunch, but Legolas will be there tonight. Here's what I'd like you to do.”

As he took the piece of paper the man was handing out to him, Bard kept wondering why he had been committed even for lunch when he was pretty sure the man could handle making it himself. Come on, a sandwich or something. Bard shrugged to himself. He was paid. Well paid. That's all he needed to know. On the piece of paper, he read something about a tomato soup with avocado toasts, then about a tofu and vegetable pot pie. Yeah, he could do that. Of course he could. He could even make it special.

“I'll be in my study if you need me. I eat at 1pm and 7pm exactly.”

“Okay, thank you, Mr...” The other man cleared his throat, without losing any of his grace, giving him an exasperated look. “Aye, right. Thranduil.” 

He still couldn't bring himself to call him by his first name. He was his boss now, wasn't he? Shouldn't he call him with less familiarity? But he insisted on that as much as he had weeks ago, and so he'd better get used to it. Bard spent at least thirty good minutes looking at every drawer, every ingredient, every inch of the kitchen: if he wanted to work here, he had to feel like he had known the place all his life. He needed to be able to dance across it, just like in his restaurant. He grinned when he noticed there was a deer magnet on the fridge, which would probably start talking at some point and be very annoying, he was used to that kind of surprises. 

As Bard began to work, he also started to quietly hum a song. He thought about his children. Sigrid had said she would take care of Bain and Tilda every Monday evening instead of going out with Fili and Kili like she liked to do sometimes, but she had promised him she didn't mind. He wasn't so sure about that. Which is why he would find a solution. Though Bain was 14, he could handle himself and his little sister for a few hours after school, couldn't he? Sigrid didn't have to sacrifice her evenings just so he didn't worry. She worked hard enough, she deserved that. But he knew that if she had been there and heard his thoughts, she would have told him he did too.

“Bard?” Mr Oropherion's voice came from a door at the other end of the living room of which he had a nice view.

“Aye?”

“Prepare some for yourself too,” he simply instructed.

Bard didn't answer. What, did he think he would forget to feed himself? That was such a dumb ide... oh well, actually... There was no need to deny it, Sigrid had probably warned the man about his bad habit to work too much, or about the fact he wouldn't dare to take some of the food for him. Clever girl, she knew him too well. Sometimes better than himself. Alright, alright, he would pay attention to his stomach. He didn't have much of a choice anymore.

At 12.45pm, the soup and the toasts were ready. Bard was quite happy with himself, and hoped Legolas' father would be too. He was less anxious about all this than he had expected. The fact Mr Oropherion knew what he was capable of helped a lot: he didn't have to make a good impression. But he wanted to. He didn't want to disappoint. Bard always gave his best when he cooked, even for people he despised. 12.58pm. He put everything on a tray let at his disposition and went to the study, making sure nothing brimed over. He made his presence known by knocking on the door with his foot. The blonde man looked up from his journal and extended a gloved hand towards him, indicating the wooden desk. 

“You can put it here,” he said, “go get your plate and eat with me?”

Bard nodded.

“If you wish.”

This was getting really weird. Weirder to him than the animals figures talking to him. Was this actually happening? Was he going to have lunch with his boss? Unless he didn't see things from the right point of view. Maybe he shouldn't see Thranduil Oropherion as his boss, but someone making him work for him to help. Maybe? It didn't make much sense. Bard put his feelings aside, not wanting to think too much about it, and went back to the room with his own bowl and plate, much less well presented than the former layer's. The man had waited for him to start eating, his cold gaze fixed on him as he took place in a chair in front of the desk. Bard waited apprehensively that Mr Oropherion tasted his food, his own spoon suspended on its way towards his mouth.

“Delicious.” 

Relief spread across Bard's body.

“Utterly delicious. You've got a gift.”

Bard grinned.

“Just a lot of practice and love for my work, sir.” Damn, he had done it again. “I mean, Thranduil.”

He finally started eating, tasting the soup and agreeing to himself that it was indeed quite good. He would think about adding it to his lunch menu. Silence fell in the big house, only perturbated by the sound of the spoons against the bowls and the toasts crunching. Bard kept looking at his soup, not daring to meet the other man's eyes. They were intimidating. They made him want to look down anyway. Though sometimes, his own eyes met Mr Oropherion's hands. He was dying to ask him why on earth he kept his gloves on, but felt it would not be appreciated. So, he said nothing. He didn't want to loose this job on the first day. Sigrid would never forgive him, and neither would he.

“What does your wife think of all this, Bard?”

Bard froze. He stared at the rich man, not knowing immediatly what to say. What did he mean by "all this"? The fact he needed to work here to pay the bills, keep their heads out of the water? The fact he now had to spent all his Mondays in a rich man's house? Since when these kind of questions were okay to be asked to people you barely knew? Bard wasn't angry though. He didn't believe the question came from a bad attention. And people always first thought he was still married even though he didn't wear his alliance anymore, or divorced. They never imagined him a widower. Mr Oropherion undestood his mistake when their eyes met. He couldn't hide the guilt and the pain that still lived inside him, eight years later. Shadows of how he had felt at the time, but still.

“I'm sorry.”

“It's okay.” Bard said, finishing his toast. “It was a long time ago. I moved on.”

And Bard knew deep in his guts that Thranduil understood what it felt like. He could see in his eyes how much he did. They didn't need words. They could tell just by looking at eachothers' eyes. Yes, talking was useless. Bard smiled. He had a lot of questions, but asking didn't feel right. So he just smiled. And Thranduil smiled. Slightly. Something else was on his mind.

“Who's taking care of your children tonight?”

“Sigrid.” Bard grinned once again. He had to find a solution about that. 

“They could come here, next times.” Thranduil said, his voice as calm as the surface of a lake. “I don't mind.”

But being offered one on a silver plate wasn't bad either. Having his children close to him was all he ever wanted.

“Really?” 

“Yes,” the man confirmed, “Legolas will have some company, and you won't have to worry about them while you're here. My driver would pick them up at school with Legolas. And your daughter could do whatever she usually does.”

“That, uh. That would be great, thank you.” _Again._

Unbelievable. Just unbelievable. The former lawyer had no reason to help him this way. Or at least none that came to Bard's mind, but he wouldn't complain. All this generosity was most welcomed. He needed it, as much as he hated to concede. He had always survived on his own. He had always taken everything on himself. It was about time things went differently. It was about time he accepted the hand that was offered so kindly to him.

They didn't speak more for the rest of the lunch, eating in silence. Bard could feel, as always, the heavy gaze of Thranduil on him. It was almost like if he waited for something. Like if Bard was the lamb and he was the wolf. It made him uncomfortable. As soon as the man finished, Bard excused himself, gathered plates and bowls and went back to the kitchen, where he did the washing-up, an eye on the clock hanging on the white wall. He had about three hours to spare before having to start working on the tofu and vegetable pot pie.

He chose to sit in the sofa with his book, but before that, he took out his phone from his pocket and called Sigrid's number. It rang only twice.

_\- “Oh, hi da!”_

\- “Hello darling,” he said, “are you okay?”

 _\- “Yes, I'm watching TV with Smaug,”_ she answered gleefully, _“So, how is it going?”_

\- “Fine. I have good news.”

_\- “Oh, really? What is it?”_

\- “Bain and Tilda can come with me the next times. So, you can come too or hang out with your friends, or just enjoy your evening the way you want.”

_\- “Really? That's great da, thank you!”_

\- “You'll thank Thranduil next time he'll come to the restaurant, love.”

Bard heard her chuckling quietly on the other line.

\- “What?” he couldn't help but smile at this delightful sound. It looked a lot like her mother's.

_\- “Nothing. Well, no. It's just that he finally managed to get you to call him by his name. I thought it would never happen, given to how stubborn you've been about it.”_

\- “Oh, that.” He hadn't even noticed the sudden changement.

_\- “Listen, things are getting interesting here. I'll call you back later tonight?”_

\- “Aye, okay. Don't forget your brother and sister at 4.” He ignored her sigh sounding more like "yes da I know" and smiled. “Take care, darling.”

Sigrid told him she loved him and hung up. Then Bard opened his book. The same he had started weeks ago, around the time when Thranduil had entered his restaurant for the first time. He didn't have much time for himself, could just read a few sentences between the shifts. But apparently, he was finally going to make progress in this book, with all the Monday afternoons ahead of him. Maybe in a month or two, he could start the sequel. That would be nice, and make Bain happy. 

What he had not expected was to end up with Thranduil joigning him on the sofa, sitting at the other side to read as well. This was probably the most awkward moment of his life, and it got worse when the carved lion on the chimney winked at him. What was that even supposed to mean? Gods, talking animals. It had to happen to him, of course. He was the one destined to feel mad. It couldn't be Thorin Oakenshield, no, it had to be him who had already enough problems.

“What are you reading?” Thranduil's voice rose up, a little bit absent, and Bard wondered if he actually cared.

“ _Eragon_. I bought it for my son's birthday, last year.” Bard said, looking at the man in the eye. “He hasn't stopped telling me to read it. So here I am.”

“Mmh.”

And that was it. A hour later he was gone in his study again. Not much for the talkative personnality. Not that Bard had one either. He just had no idea what he could tell to someone like Thranduil. They had nothing in common except for the deceased wives, had they? And how could such a person be even interested to know more about someone like him? He was a former lawyer. His family had money. He was rich and beautiful. And he was just... Bard, without any stories to tell. What a sad painting he made in this expensive house.

Bard realised it was 5pm when the door opened and Legolas entered the living room. He didn't look up immediately, being too concentrated on the passionate story he was reading. The teenager smiled when he saw the man sitting on the big couch, looking so serious.

“Hello Bard!”

“Hello Legolas.” He finally got out of the pages. “Good day?”

The boy shrugged.

“As usual. I guess ada is in his study?”

“Aye.”

Bard took this as the signal it was time for him to go back to work. He left Eragon on the sofa and went back to the kitchen, washed his hand and got ready to start cooking again. Or at least, taking care of the vegetables. This recipe took about a hour to be made, including the baking in the oven. But as Bard made the crust himself and wanted to take his time, he had decided to start a bit sooner than he should have. He would do a fruit salad if he had some time left to spare. As he worked, Legolas and Thranduil came to look at him, apparently interested in the process. 

“You must be really bored to come here and watch me.” Bard said with a wide smile, eyes going from father to son. He actually enjoyed it, even if it distracted him.

“It's in case you would try to poison us, Bard.” Legolas answered.

“You're never too careful.” Thranduil added, and the cook laughed quietly, giving them a fake mischievous look, as if he was indeed trying to do something bad.

Thranduil always seemed different when his son was there. More open and inclined to talk and smile. It was like if he was giving him courage. Bard knew the feeling, things were the same for him when Sigrid kept him company. Maybe they had also that in common, in the end.

“It'll be ready in about thirty-five minutes.” Bard announced proudly. He was quite happy with his preparation, for now at least. If everything went as planned, their meal would be delicious. 

“Perfect.” Thranduil paused, thinking. “Will you eat with us?”

Bard could tell it was an invitation disguised in a question. Sadly, he wanted to be home as soon as possible. He wished to embrace his children before they went to sleep. Tilda was put into bed at 8pm, 8.30pm max: he wasn't even sure he would be there to tell her goodnight. He offered the former lawyer a sad smile.

“I'm sorry, I have to go back for my children and I have some paperwork to do.”

The man's only answer was a nod of the head. It was impossible to tell what he was feeling at this exact moment. If he didn't care or was disappointed. No, he was neutral. He was completely neutral. Legolas went to the living room to set the table, and Bard caught Thranduil's arm as he turned to follow his son. The man looked at Bard's hand on his arm, impassible, which made the cook let it go with an apologetic look. Damn, he shouldn't have done that, apparently.

“Thranduil?” Bard asked, a little bit hesitant.

“Yes?”

“May I ask you something?” 

Thranduil looked up to him, his gaze meeting his eyes as an invitation for him to continue.

“Why are you doing this for us?”

The blond stared at him like if he didn't understand the question.

“Because you need help is not a reason good enough for you?”

Bard felt like the man was not telling him everything. Perhaps Thranduil was a person of secrets. They didn't know much about each other. Yes, Thranduil had been a constant customer of The Esgaroth for the past month, but it didn't mean they had a lot of occasions to talk about anything else than what he wanted to eat, as Bard was working most of the time. He also wondered if he would ever get off of his gloves someday. But Bard wasn't stupid: he realised that if Thranduil didn't show his hands, there had to be a good reason. Just as there was a good reason he never wore clothes that let the base of his neck visible.

“Aye. I guess it is,” he said before looking away. That pot pie wasn't going to get in the oven by itself, was it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gods Bard you're so oblivious. JUST OPEN YOUR EYES. What am I going to do with you, eh?
> 
> Next chapter program: some Smaug, some Tilda, some angst and a lot of fluff. It'll be long. Longer than this one. eheheh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I knew I said it would be posted before Wednesday, but I'm not an organized person! Really sorry about that.
> 
> But here it is! Finally! Enjoy :)
> 
> (My biggest thanks to SomewhatByronically for editing this chapter, which was not a small task.)

“I know, I know, you want your food!”

Bard was trying to move across the apartment without stumbling on Smaug, but the big cat kept rubbing himself against him, then rolling on the floor with insistent meows.

“Come on, you can wait two more minutes, you stomach on legs.”

It was Monday morning and Bard was just back from dropping Bain and Tilda at their respective schools, and Sigrid at Thorin Oakenshield's house, as she was spending the day with Fili and Kili. He had a little bit more than a hour to spare before heading to his extra job, just outside town. Bard took off his coat, caught Smaug and held him in his arms as he went to the kitchen. He had three children, not a lot of time, and still he had to take care of a cat, feed him, pet him and the rest. Smaug wasn't even his cat in the first place!

The little story was that Smaug had moved into the Arkenstone some time after it had sunk under Thror’s (Thorin’s grandfather) management, but before Thorin came back to restore the place. The bearded man would not tolerate the presence of an animal, breaking glasses and ripping table clothes, in his establishment. The cat was hard to catch though, aggressive and apparently untamable. He had entered The Esgaroth just across the street after Thorin had poured a bucket of cold water on the poor thing. It had taken weeks for Bard to make the beast understand he couldn't go in the kitchen or sleep on the tables or destroy his tapestry and his drapes. Even more weeks until he stopped scratching and biting his hands.

If he had to be honest, Bard could admit he had wanted many times to put the feline in a refuge or something, but his children, younger at the time, had insisted on keeping him, as they had always wanted a cat. In the end, it had been a good decision: Smaug was actually quite sweet when he wasn't stressed by some rough man named Thorin and left alone to sleep on the chairs and the old furniture. Customers loved him and Bard had grown quite fond of the beast now they had accepted each other. He liked petting him and hear his purr against his chest as it helped the man to sleep.

“I should put you on a diet, you big dragon.” Bard told the indeed fat cat. The surname came from a four-year-old Tilda, who for some reason, had been persuaded they had a flying lizard sleeping on their beds and not a fluffy feline. Smaug weighed maybe too much, thanks to Bard's younger daughter being way too generous, but it didn't seem to bother the cat at all. He kept rushing through the apartment, jumping on the furniture and acting like he was the king here. Which he was, actually. Kind of.

Bard put him down in the kitchen, changed his water and gave him his food, before heading to the bathroom where he put up his hair in a messy bun, just like he was used to. He looked at his reflection in the mirror for a few seconds. _"You seem tired,"_ Sigrid had told him in the car earlier today. She was right, but he didn't feel too bad nonetheless. He had to do something about the dark circles under his eyes though. _Though they could look worse_ , the cook thought to himself. Bard knew he should sleep more, but managing the restaurant and bringing his children to school didn't allow such things. Resting on Mondays was impossible too since he had started working for Thranduil Oropherion. He'd have to deal with it later.

As soon as he entered the living room, a quiet voice made itself heard. Bard turned slowly to the sofa, knowing exactly what was waiting for him, where Tilda's stuffed pony was looking straight at him with an innocent face. _Oh great, here we go again_ , Bard thought.

_“A kiss never killed anyone.”_

“What?” He had heard perfectly, but well. He had to be sure, at this point.

_“I said: a kiss never killed anyone.”_ The animal repeated. 

As usual, it was nonsense! How was he supposed to do what he was told if he didn't have any context, any more information? In the end he always sorted it out, but always nearly too late or with unexpected luck. _"A kiss never killed anyone,"_ what was that even supposed to mean? A kiss to who, his children, a stranger in the street? Where, on the mouth, on the cheek, on the forehead? Bard shrugged and grabbed the plush who had stopped talking, putting it in Tilda's room. He knew it wouldn't solve his problem though: now the animals had started talking again, they wouldn't stop until he got the message and did what he was, in a way, told. He didn't know what to expect, but he didn't feel really confident about it.

But anyway, he had an apartment to clean and a job to go to.

-

It had in fact been five weeks since Bard had been employed by Thranduil: every Monday he went to the man's huge house and cooked for him and his son, getting generously paid for the hard work he put in every meal. Things were going great: thanks to this small extra job, he managed to pay the bills, and save money for The Esgaroth's new façade. He couldn't quite believe his luck. Without Thranduil's help, he and his family would be in great trouble. That's why Bard liked to out-do himself for the former lawyer. With time, he had also started to actually enjoy having lunch and reading on the sofa with the man, talking more and more every time they saw each other. Even though Thranduil had Bard cooking everything he wanted, he still came to the restaurant once or twice a week. They talked only of simple things though. Of food and raising children on their own and work. It lightened their busy minds.

Bard had even started to actually look forward to Mondays, especially because his children seemed to enjoy them as well when they joined him after school, laughing with Legolas while Thranduil did gods know what in his office. Occasionally Thranduil kept him company in the kitchen, watchful eyes on their kids. It had become a pleasant routine that Bard didn't want to end for the world. He still needed money. He also still needed to spend some time outside of the restaurant, Sigrid had been right when she had said it would be good for him. He was also friendless, far too concentrated on his little family. Until now. Bard smiled at the thought of Thranduil being his friend. He remembered with a soft smile the third time he had came to the blond man's house: things had gotten a little bit more interesting than the week before, almost as uneventful as the first.

_“What. is. that...?”_

_Thranduil looked at his plate with an distrustful face, obviously not feeling sure about what he was going to eat. He had told Bard to cook whatever he wanted for lunch, so he had decided to make something that looked... different than what the man was used to. Or at least, looking different. Using his phone, he had looked for a recipe, just like Sigrid had shown him, and had came up with this._

_“It's Spaghetti Squash and Portobello Mushroom Pizza.” Bard explained with a mysterious grin. “With fake cheese, of course.”_

_Thranduil's eyes weighed on him suspiciously, but the cook kept his straight posture, not looking down, for once. He was trying to not let himself think that Thranduil was worth more than him, with his lordy, icy gaze and his expensive clothes, convinced this job would be much more enjoyable - it already was, but it was maybe too quiet, too serious - if his relationship with his "boss" was less... serious, yes. More equal, kind of._

_“What? Come on, it's gonna get cold.”_

_“I’m not so much worried about the temperature of the food as...” Thranduil noncommittally waved his hand in the general direction of the pizza on his plate before finishing, “the rest of it.”_

_Bard rolled his eyes, taking the small mushroom pizza in his hand and taking a bite, offering Thranduil a look saying "see? It's not poison!"_

_“Mmmh.” He teased. “Delicious.”_

_The former lawyer didn't seem convinced though. His eyes went from his plate to the so-called pizza in Bard's hand, almost finished. He obviously wasn't used to this kind of not-fancy-looking food, and most importantly, feared some trick from his cook._

_“Are you mocking me, Bard?” He asked calmly, raising his thick eyebrows. It was impossible to tell what he thought of this conversation. If he was offended or amused or something else entirely. But it was worth the risk._

_“No, of course not.” Indeed, he was just teasing, in a friendly way. “But if you don't want it, I'll eat it, no problem.”_

_And he darted his hand to the other man's lunch, quickly enough so that he couldn't be stopped, seizing the pizza and bringing it slowly to his grinning face. He felt like he was acting like a kid, but he didn't give it much thought: adults could have fun too, for god's sake!_

_“Give me that.”_

_Thranduil leaned a bit on his desk, his hair falling down around his neck in a silvery cascade, with an unreadable gaze at the cook, and got his food back easily, as Bard didn't resist at all. He was now sure Thranduil would at least taste it, but before the mushroom could reach the blond man's mouth, it slipped from his gloved hand, crashed on his trousers with a quiet "splash" and miraculously didn't stain his pure white shirt._

_“Shit.” Gods, Thranduil Oropherion had just swore in front of him._

_It was too much. Bard laughed helplessly, before he could even try to stop himself. He couldn't stop his giggling, quickly finding it difficult to breath normally, tears menacing to wet his eyes._

_“Very funny, Bard.” The man sounded cold, but there was a hint of warmth in his voice._

_“Aye, indeed!” He chuckled, managing to give Thranduil an apologetic grin.”I'll get you another one. And some tissues.”_

_Finally, as he had left the office to go to the kitchen, he had seen a genuine smile lightening up Thranduil's face._

“Da, can you braid my hair please?”

Tilda took him out of his reverie, grabbing the sleeve of his shirt. She was wearing a blue winter dress with leggings and always looked like a little princess to him. “Bain and Legolas are watching telly.”

Bard looked down to her and smiled.

“I'm sorry darling, I have to take care of the dinner.” He stroke her hair softly as she made a disappointed face. He thought about telling the boys to make an effort, but another idea popped up in his mind. “Why don't you ask Thranduil? I'm sure he would love to.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” He reassured her before bending over to kiss her forehead. “Come on, he won't eat you.”

The little girl smiled widely and rushed to Thranduil's office, her father's confidence giving her courage. The first time Tilda had met the man, she had been more silent than ever. Which was quite surprising coming from her: she was a little girl full of energy, usually always asking questions and running around. Bard had never seen her like this, almost hiding behind his back, and couldn't understand why she was acting this way. He had thought about her being impressed by the house, but she was too young to actually care for that sort of things. So, he had come to the conclusion it was Thranduil who had this effect on her. After all, he had quite a presence. Tall, looking serious and lordy. Bard understood. Himself had been unable not to feel insignificant next to him for the first few weeks. It had taken this job and a funny situation for him to feel more at ease with the blond man. Maybe this was the occasion for her to see Thranduil wasn't as inaccessible as he looked. Even though it was the fourth time she was there and was much less impressed than the first time.

And indeed, a few seconds later, his youngest was dragging the man by the hand to one of the couches. He still wore gloves, as usual. Despite them becoming friends over the weeks, Bard had never found a good reason to ask Thranduil about his hands. Except curiosity. Which to him wasn't a good reason at all. It wasn't like if it was actually important anyway. He didn't need to know. It didn't seem to bother Legolas, it even seemed to be something normal. If learning the secret was part of destiny's plan, he would know in due time, there was no point in thinking too much about it.

Bard went back to his preparation: "Braised Eggplant With Tofu in Garlic Sauce". It was a meal Thranduil had specifically asked for, giving him the recipe as it was something he had never tried before. But it wasn't difficult, the former lawyer had been much more inventive than that over the past few weeks. As he cooked, Bard occasionally had a look at his daughter: for once, she talked with enthusiasm as Thranduil was braiding her hair with care, a small but genuine smile playing on his lips. Bard couldn't hear what they were saying over the sound of the television, but if the man's expression was anything to go by, he enjoyed the moment as much as the little girl. He couldn't help but look at them fondly. The warmth slumbering in his chest got revived, and Bard could feel his cheeks getting hot. Gods, he wasn't going to blush for no reason like a teenager! He shook his head, closed his eyes, breathed. It was nothing. There was nothing. He was just a father touched to see his youngest daughter having a good time with someone he happened to care about.

“Da, da!” Five to ten minutes later, Tilda had gotten up and ran to him, looking happier than ever. “Look the braid Thranduil made me!”

“You're very pretty, darling.” Bard gave her a smile, then to Thranduil who had followed her in the kitchen. The one the blond gave him back almost made him shiver. He looked down, concentrating his attention on the tofu. He wouldn't be distracted so easily. He could feel Thranduil's smile grow wider though, making him smile even more too.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Thranduil asked.

Bard looked up to him, surprised. That was new.

“Uh. No, thank you.” He said kindly. “Everything's fine.”

Of course, he could have accepted a little help, but it was not in Bard's habits. He was used to do everything on his own and never say yes to help if he could manage by himself. A bad habit Sigrid kept worrying about since he had almost work himself to death after his wife had died. He had worry the young woman had wanted to work in the restaurant with him because of it, but he had soon understood it was not the case.

“Good, then.”

But the man looked somewhat disappointed. Bard didn't get the time to think more about it, as Tilda pointed to his head, an amused smile across her adorable face.

“Da, you've got something in your hair!”

“Oh?” Bard bent over, gathering the little girl into his arms as she let out a surprised cry tainted with laughter. She was getting heavier as the years passed, but Bard would keep doing it as long as he could manage. “Could you take it off for me, love?”

“Sure, da,” she chuckled, getting her hands off his clothes and on to his dark hair under Thranduil's fond gaze, a concentrated look across her innocent face. “There.”

Tilda proudly showed him a small branch of coriander as if she had found a needle in a haystack, smiling wide. Holding her with one arm for a few seconds, he poked at her nose before putting her down, telling her to go watch a cartoon or anything she wanted with the boys, whether they liked it or not as they had been using the television until now. Bard heard Legolas tell Bain with a grin in his voice that he felt like if Bard was his second father at this point. His lips started to curve into an slightly embarrassed smile, but it froze when his eyes met Thranduil's, looking right at the neckband of his shirt.

“Is that...?” The man whispered, eyebrows frowned in an unreadable expression, extending his gloved hand towards him, as if to touch what he thought he was seeing.

What? What was what? Bard stared at him confusely, then at the hand getting closer and closer to him - that Thranduil quickly drew back to his side awkwardly when he saw the cook's expression - until he looked down to his shirt, discovering the first two buttons had been unbuttoned probably by Tilda when he had put her back on the ground or because she had thought it would be funny, letting a small portion of his skin be shown to anyone laid their eyes on him. It seemed to him that a cold, giant, hand just gripped his chest and squeezed it hard.

“It's nothing.” Bard said, voice soft, as he drew the two sides of the shirt together, buttoning them together again, straightening himself and acting as if everything was alright. It actually was. He would just always avoid the subject, and hide the view, if he could. He didn't need pitying, curious or even disgusted looks. He didn't want to endure them, nor to be reminded of the past at any other time than when he changed. His reflection in the mirror was well enough. Yes, old wounds were definitely better left untouched.

“I'm sorry. It was prying anyway.” Thranduil apologized, looking sincere, clasping his hands behind his back. Bard couldn't help but think he was lucky, for just like the first time it had happened, he felt like the blond man didn't say sorry very often.

“It's okay, Thranduil.” Bard smiled gently at the former lawyer's sincerely concerned expression, apparently still not sure of what he had seen, which was a good thing to him. “It's nothing,” he repeated.

Of course, it was something. But Bard prefered people not to know or see, as it brought other questions themselves bringing back memories that he didn't really want to recall, and his children not to see for the same reason. Tilda couldn't remember, of course. To her, it was just how her Da looked beneath his shirts. To Sigrid and Bain, it was more delicate. He hadn't cared, at first, thinking himself lucky for not being disfigured and being occupied by the pain in his mind and his broken heart, as it was much stronger and more unbearable than the pain of his body. It was when he saw people’s pity (reviving his pain) and Sigrid and Bain’s concern (far too sad on faces far too young) that he stopped wearing t-shirts or anything letting even a tiny bit of his chest be seen.

“Actually, maybe, you could chop the mushrooms.” Bard proposed, changing the subject as if nothing had happened. It was more for that purpose than actually needing any help. “I have to take care of the tofu.”

Thranduil only nodded as an answer. It was like he was in another world, thinking about something far away, in his mind or in the past, Bard couldn't know, and it took the cook clearing his throat to get him back to earth. The former lawyer blinked, slowly realizing he had been somewhere else.

“Oh, yes. The mushrooms.”

Thranduil took a knife in a drawer, stood next to Bard, and started chopping in silence. Even if his face didn't let anything show, the cook could guess he was troubled in some way, because of the flash of emotion he had seen in the blond man's eyes for a second, when he had thought there was something on his chest. No pity, no disgust, as he had been used to in the past. Which was interesting, unexpected, especially coming from someone like Thranduil, as ignorant as that thought could be. After all, because he was rich didn't mean he knew nothing of pain, physical or psychological. Starting with the death of his wife, certainly. But Bard would never have thought he was used to such a thing: yet he had not even seen surprise on his face, or at least not a common kind of surprise. But maybe he had not had enough time to be sure of what had been revealed to his eyes.

Bard shook his head. He had a meal to prepare, other things to think about, and it didn't matter for now. It had never mattered. He wished Thranduil would open himself up a bit more though. Things were obviously much easier, more light-hearted than two months and a half ago, when the man had entered The Esgaroth like if it was some dirty place he shouldn't even breathe the air of.

“Are you okay?” Bard couldn't help it, he had to ask, like any friend would.

“Yes, don't worry.” Thranduil answered after a short silence, not stopping his action or looking up to meet his eyes. He opened his mouth to add something, but he seemed to renounce it and kept working.

Bard shrugged, and found himself unable to hold back a smile. He would have never imagined to see the other man cook with him, or even just help with the cooking. It was a pleasant sight, which gave him a view of Thranduil that hadn't been quite developed yet. It was in a way surprising to see his serious, cold in appearance, employer help the employee to do his work. But maybe it wasn't if he decided to see them as friends.

At this exact moment, Bain got up from the couch and entered the kitchen. His father watched him come, noticing at the same time Legolas pointing at the television and hearing Tilda chuckling against him as she gripped his arm. Bard didn't get the chance to wonder what was so amusing about a bobcat sleeping with her three kittens as his son stepped in front of them.

“Is it ready yet, da?” He asked, looking curiously at the mushrooms Thranduil was almost done chopping and the tofu Bard was frying in a pan. “I'm starving!”

Bard raised an eyebrow, giving Thranduil an interrogative look the man didn't notice. The cook cleared his throat. The former lawyer finally laid his icy gaze on him, his expression as neutral as usual.

“Aren't you staying for dinner?” His deep, calm, voice sounded innocent. He clearly wasn't.

“Well, I would have loved to have a say on this.” Bard didn't want to sound unpleasant, so he smiled genuinely, as he wasn't really angry about the situation. It was just yet again another surprise. “I didn't prepare enough for three extra portions.”

“Actually, I took the liberty to give you the recipe and the ingredients for five people.” Thranduil admitted, putting his knife aside as he was finally done with the mushrooms.

“Oh.” Bard didn't even notice there was indeed too much food for just the Oropherions, too concentrated on the recipe itself.

“Please, da!” Bain begged with the puppy eyes he knew his father melted for.

Bard felt like his hand was being forced - it obviously was - but he didn't really mind. It didn't hurt anyone, it pleased his kids, and it was less work to do once they would be back home, and Sigrid was staying at Oakenshield's house anyway. He would never say no to some more time in Thranduil's company, especially now he had apparently stopped thinking about their previous conversation. Such thought almost made him swing on his feet awkwardly: he didn't know how to feel about it. At all.

“Okay, okay, we'll stay,” he said while rolling his eyes in a fake exasperated way.

“YEAH, thanks da!” Bain gave him a quick hug and ran back to the living room, throwing himself in the couch next to his friend. Even though he was four years younger than Legolas, who was 18, they got along very well. Bard was pretty sure his son saw the older teenager as a model, which wasn't a bad thing as Legolas was a good boy and he felt like he could put his children's lives in his hands and be sure they would be fine.

“We eat in about thirty minutes!” Bard said louder, making sure to be heard, before turning to Thranduil, who was now leaning against the fridge, hands behind his back, looking at his son fondly. He was stunning. As always, his long soft-looking silvery hair were falling down his back and his shoulders, his relaxed expression softened his serious features and he looked incredibly good in his fancy clothes, all of that in a very... attractive way. _Wait, what?_

_“Remember: a kiss never killed anyone.”_

The voice almost made Bard startle as his eyes fell on the deer magnet just above the blond's shoulder. He found it extremely difficult not to send it a deadly glare. Gosh, now was not the moment. But then the cook froze, realizing what the animal might be trying to tell him. No, impossible. It was stupid. Utterly stupid. He was not going to kiss Thranduil because a damn magnet told him so.

“Bard, what are you staring at?” Thranduil asked, but Bard felt as though he was asking, " _are you staring at me? I know you're staring at me._ " And he would have been if it wasn't for that damn deer.

“What?”

_“Come on, trust me! A kiss never killed anyone.”_

“You were staring.”

_“A kiss never killed anyoooone.”_

“Will you please shut up?!” The exasperated words had left Bard's mouth before he could stop them.

Thranduil looked at him in shock, his eyebrows frowned. He went instantly from soft to cold as ice. When he spoke, his voice was calm. And that was exactly what made him scary, what made an unwelcome shiver travel down the cook's spine.

“Do you enjoy telling me to shut it, Bard?” A flash of anger mixed with disappointment colored Thranduil's gaze, then disappeared as fast as it had come. “If I recall well, it's not the first time.”

Something in Bard's chest hurt. Maybe it was how Thranduil looked at him. Maybe it was his words, so untrue. Or maybe it was the way the other man acted like Bard was once again a stranger to him. How could he save it this time? He couldn't tell the truth, as Thranduil would think him mad. But he could be as sincere as possible.

“Listen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I would never...” He swallowed, his hand ran through his hair: his discomfort and his shame were clearly visible. “I'm sorry. I was deep down in my thoughts and uh... I guess I've been talking to myself for too long.”

It wasn't completely a lie. It was also far from the truth. Thranduil wasn't stupid, he could tell his cook wasn't saying everything. But everything about Bard’s words, body language, and tone of voice was screaming that he really, really didn't mean to, even though he had been - almost - looking at him when talking, which would not play in his favour. Added to how bad he obviously felt, the former lawyer seemed to soften. It was clear as crystal water he would never have insulted the blond man, even if the situation made absolutely no sense. But he had probably many questions that Bard knew he would have to answer, someday.

“Fine. I'll let it go, _again_. Just this time.” Thranduil finally said, distant though. “I hope you know you're... weird.”

Bard tried a shy smile.

“Aye... I guess I am.” He really was. Talking animals, seriously. “I'm really sorry.”

To these words, Thranduil returned his smile in a reserved way, and left the room to sit beside his son, Bain and Tilda on the couch who were enjoying a film, hopefully too concentrated and the sound too loud for them to hear their conversation. There was something troubling Bard though: why? Why wasn't Thranduil sending him away? His own son had looked horrified at his father's controlled anger back in The Esgaroth weeks ago. You didn't insult Thranduil Oropherion without facing the consequences if you hadn't a good excuse. A very, very good excuse. The first time, the benefit of the doubt had saved him. But today? Was it the only thing? Such words being said to him twice couldn't be a coincidence, he had to know that. 

The cook sighed, his shoulders relaxing from the heavy tension that had weighed on them. Bard approached the magnet, pointing an accusing finger at it.

“I hate you. I hate you _so much_.” Right now, he meant his words. For a moment, he had thought Thranduil was going to fire him. And for one second, he had seemed like the worst thing likely to happen in the world, not only for the money.

He went back to the meal. There was not much left to do, but his mind kept going away. Wondering what was the warmth in his chest, as familiar as a very old friend. Wondering how what had happened was going to influence his relation with Thranduil. If it had changed anything at all. He hoped it had not. The blond seemed to have forgiven him, again. Next time he would come to the restaurant, things would get back to normal. Maybe even during dinner. Maybe he worried for nothing. Bard stared at Thranduil, just at the moment Thranduil turned to look at the kitchen. They exchanged a small smile, Bard's being apologetic. It reassured him, and he could have sworn he had seen something _different_ in Thranduil's eyes. Like if he had _already_ forgot their cold interaction.

Gods, what was he thinking?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter, yay! Enjoy :3  
> Thank you once again to SomewhatByronically for being an amazing Beta ♥

It had been a while since Bard had felt that relaxed. After seven weeks of work for Thranduil, he didn't have any problems paying the bills and had saved enough so that he could actually start thinking about what he could do to the façade of The Esgaroth to make it more appealing. In a few weeks he should be able to start the refurbishment, maybe even makesome changes inside to the whole thing even more welcoming than it already is. As for now, most of the feeling came from how friendly Bard and Sigrid were with their customers. He didn't want to see things too big, but he couldn't help thinking about the new tools and plates he could buy, how much his restaurant could look as good as it had once been. And this gave him a reason to smile at the future, free of the worries he had been living with before Thranduil offered him his help.

But it wasn't the only reason. Visit after visit, day after day, Bard happened to be unable to deny the other reason he got up with enthusiasm in the morning was because he would see Thranduil. He enjoyed the other's man company very much, but couldn't quite yet put words on the warmth he felt inside his chest every time their eyes met, every time Thranduil talked to him freely in a way that had not existed at first, a way he had first seen when the blond man had brought Tauriel to dinner in his restaurant a few weeks ago, a way that seemed to be reserved only to special people. It was a feeling he had felt in the past, but it seemed so far away, seemed to be such a forgotten thing buried deep down in his being that he managed to convince himself it was nothing more than the pleasant sensation to have an actual friend after so many years alone, taking care of his children and cutting himself away from any kind of relationship.

“Da, you've got that smile on again.”

Bard looked up from the bowls he was washing in the sink of their little apartment to give his daughter Sigrid a questioning raise of his eyebrows.

“What smile?”

“You know, the one we've been talking about lately,” she teased with meaningful bright eyes, “the "I'm thinking about some really attractive blond" one.”

Bard shrugged as he stared at her, absolutely not getting the point she was trying to make. Yes, he smiled more than usual, so what? It was not a different smile, it was just brightening his face up most of the time. Which was a good thing.

“I don't know what you're talking about, darling.” He said simply, passing a wet hand through his messy dark hair, for once falling loose down his shoulders instead of being tied up in messier bun.

“I can't believe you.” Sigrid said as she rolled her eyes, as if she knew something he didn't. She went back to cleaning up the floor, but she kept the grin on her face, apparently unable to put on a more serious expression. Bard could feel she was thinking a lot about something, but not something particularly unpleasant. He decided to not think too much about it; if it was bothering her, he didn't need to worry because he knew she would tell him in time if she wanted to. So, he finished washing the dishes, keeping a faster rhythm after a quick glance to the clock. He had just over thirty minutes before Sigrid would go to do some shopping with friends - it was Fili's 20th birthday soon, and she wanted to get him something special for the occasion - and a hour until _he_ arrived.

 _He_ , being Thranduil. Today was Friday, Bain and Tilda were at school, and his eldest had things to do. It was right between the lunch service and the evening, so Bard had thought it was perfect to have tea and ask for some advices on the redecoration. He thought that it would only be right to ask for Thranduil’s opinion given that he couldn't have even thought about a  refurbishment without the job the former lawyer had offered him. And if the blond's house was anything to go by, Thranduil's advice was possibly better to take than anyone else's. He wouldn't forget about his children though: he would of course ask them before making any final decision on the direction to take. They had a word on all this as the place belonged to them too.

Of course, he wanted his home to look cleaner than ever, tied up and ready to welcome someone who gave great consideration to such things. Bard also cared about how neat his house was but in a much less... insistent way? No, no, that was a lie. If he made sure the place was clean, he couldn't help but have it really not ship-shape. He gave a look to the living room that Sigrid was taking care of. It was a mess. Some of his clothes were scattered on his bed, books had been left unread beside it on the little end table, Tilda's toys could be found everywhere and anywhere around the room, but at least not on the floor. Bard sighed in desperation. This is what happened when you couldn't keep an eye on your own children while you worked downstairs. All the cleaning had to be made after school or during the weekends. Bard wished he had more time ahead of him, but it seemed the apartment would not be perfect enough to make a good impression to Thranduil. At least it would smell fine and be cleaned.

As soon as Sigrid finished her part, she hurried to her bedroom to retrieve her coat and handbag, giving her father a grin saying, "sorry da" and Bard was left alone to think about what he still had the time to do. The dishes were done, the kitchen was almost shining, the living room had been cleaned. It wasn't too bad. Except for the mess. Bard looked down to his clothes. He was wearing worn out jeans, a stained unwashable old shirt and even older converses. Yeah, he still had to make himself presentable too.

Smaug was purring on the sofa bed like the king he was, when they heard the bell rang. The big cat lifted his head up, ears towards the door leading downstairs. _What._ Bard had a quick look at the clock hanging on the wall. No, no, it couldn't already be Thranduil. They had agreed on 3pm, not 2pm. He was sure of it. Unless... _oh shit_. Realization hit him right in the face as he remembered the text message he had gotten late in the evening the day before, just after he had closed the restaurant. It had completely slipped his tired mind.

“Da, who is it?” Sigrid said as she ran to the kitchen to put an apple in her bag.

“Thranduil.” Bard mumbled, heading towards the door: he'd better not keep the man waiting any longer.

“Oh. He's early.” It was her only answer as she got past him down the stairs, apparently much more in a hurry than he had thought. She opened the front door which revealed a bored Thranduil, arms crossed against his chest, wearing clothes of good taste but comfortable, under an open black trench coat. A gorgeous white scarf was wrapped around his neck, protecting it from the frosty bite of winter.

“Hello Thranduil,” Sigrid said with an enthusiasm that got her a thin smile from the former lawyer. “See you on Monday, maybe! Bye da!”

And she left to catch her bus without another word, leaving the two men alone, facing each other. Thranduil's icy gaze was travelling down and up Bard's clothes, an amused smile playing on his lips. The cook suddenly remembered what he looked like, with his terrible clothes and his untied messy hair. He offered the blond an awkward grin, gesturing to him to enter as a shiver travelled through him, reminding him how cold it was out there.

“Hi.” Bard closed the door behind them after Thranduil granted him a nod of the head as salutation, then lead the way towards the apartment. “I'm sorry, I forgot about your text. I didn't expect you before 3.”

“I can see that.” Thranduil simply replied, his tone calm, like he didn't care. Bard would have bet he was actually enjoying this but hiding it well, as much as the blond probably found him miserable. Bard's only answer came out as a falsely upset sigh. But maybe he really was a little upset.

Thranduil was welcomed in the living room by an unpleased Smaug. The cat's fur was looking bigger than usual, and his amber eyes watched the blond's every movement. But that's not what the former lawyer noticed first. His thick eyebrows lifted up as his gaze wandered around the place, meeting Tilda's toys scattered everywhere, the pile of books on the small table and worse, the sight of the sofa bed. The sheets were still undone on it, jeans and shirts there, a sock here, another there. Hopefully there weren't ever any underwears, or else Bard would have needed to hide from Thranduil for the rest of his days in shame.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry about the mess.” The cook apologized again, feeling like an absolute shit for welcoming Thranduil in his home in such a bad condition.

“Mmh.” _Oh, great, the "I'm judging you" thing again._ Bard went to the kitchen, trying not to think too much about how a bad impression of his personal life he was giving, Thranduil on his heels. He gave a warning look at Smaug on the way, knowing how he didn't like strangers. The first time Kili and Fili had come here, things had gotten quite ugly and they had left with scars all over their hands. The man hoped it wouldn't get this far with Thranduil, but he had no idea for who'se sake: Thranduil's or the cat's.

Thranduil looked even more out of place here than in the restaurant. The ceiling was lower than in other apartments, definitely more than in the other man's house, so it seemed that Thranduil was some kind of giant in a dwarf's home. Well, maybe not that much, but Bard felt that way.

“So, tea?” Bard asked, raising two different teabags in front of the blond's face. “Earl Grey or Red Berries?”

“Red Berries, please.” He didn't even hesitate and leaned against the oven's door, watching Bard put the water to boil. He could feel his gaze on his back, and wondered what he could be thinking right now. Probably how he managed not to start tidying everything up in the room behind him. At least the kitchen looked absolutely decent, it was better than nothing. The cook put two mugs on the small table, perfectly aware of how unusual it had to be for Thranduil's, because of the pretty tea service he had seen back at the other man's house.

“Sugar?” Bard asked. “You can sit, you know.”

Thranduil shaked his head and clasped his gloved hands behind his back, but did not move from where he was standing. _Okay, why not._ The water was hot fast enough, and they went to sit on the sofa bed in the living room after Bard had quickly put the clothes aside with an embarrassed grin. He didn't expect at all the words that came out of the former lawyer's mouth.

“Don't you ever wear anything other than shirts?”

Bard raised an eyebrow, resisting the urge to reply with "don't you wear gloves _all the time_?" as he carefully brought the tea, same as Thranduil's, to his lips.

“Don't you wear anything other than bloody expensive clothes?” he replied after taking a sip. It was way too hot, so he put it on the end table, next to Smaug who had sit right in front of Thranduil, staring at the newcomer like some predator looked at his prey.

“Fair enough.” His icy blue eyes, which ignored the cat as much as possible, then fell on something hanging to the wall, as if it was going to fall at any moment. An undescriptible flash of emotion crossed the man's gaze. “Is that a firefighter's helmet?”

There was something in Thranduil's voice Bard couldn't quite put words on.

“Oh, yes. It's a souvenir.” Bard's own voice seemed far away, as if he didn't want to push the subject too far, but the blond man's curious look tainted with some sort of nostalgia made him sigh, then continue. “I've been one for most of my life,” he explained, shrugging like if it was nothing, “I left my job after my wife passed eight years ago, and I took on the restaurant.” He paused, deciding about taking it as an occasion to clarify things about his situation or not. “But after a few months, enough time to lose customers. The fact I've never been really good at management didn't help, and Sigrid was too young to advise me. And that's why I'm here now.”

He didn't precise why it had taken him so long, saying things as they were without telling more than he wanted to share. Thranduil nodded slowly, taking a sip of his tea, which was now just hot enough to be drank. He finally laid his gaze on Smaug, who had not moved an inch.

“I think your cat doesn't like me.” Thranduil stated.

“Why?” Bard asked absently, then realising the subject had really changed - and he thanked Thranduil for his perceptiveness - and how stupid the question was. He rolled his eyes: the beast was impossible.

“Well, look at him.” Thranduil gestured at the ginger cat, who would have violently attacked the hand offered to him and lacerated the glove if Bard hadn't gripped the blond's arm and brought him back to the sofa right before Smaug could reach anything. He let out a outraged meow, hissing at the former lawyer but staying on his spot. Thranduil now looked at him with pure disgust. These two were not going to be friends, apparently.

“He hates everyone who comes in the apartment except my family, actually.” Bard precised, letting go of Thranduil's arm to stroke the beast behind the ears. If people were in the restaurant, it was okay. But their home? Strangers were not welcomed, and Smaug showed how territorial he was with teeth and claws.

“And how do you know that?”

“I talk to animals, didn't I tell you?” His voice was so serious - because well, it was true... in some way - that Thranduil stared at him, trying to figure out if he was indeed joking or not. His features softened when Bard started laughing softly, and a smile lightened up his face. Such genuine smiles were a rare sight, and the cook always made sure he carved each time it happened in his memory, for it was a view possibly as beautiful as the man himself. He liked that, having tea and talking with Thranduil. Having their shoulders brushing against each other's. He liked the warmth inside his chest, giving him shivers running down his spine. It brought on a feeling of peacefulness he had not felt in a very long time. This moment, somehow intimate and pure, was cut short by the familiar voice of Tilda's plush, once again left on the couch.

_“Bring him downstairs.”_

_What?_ Oh, yes, the façade. That what why Thranduil was here for, after all. Bard didn't want this moment to end, but they had almost finished their tea, time was running out before the preparations for the next shift and the pony was not going to leave them alone. And it was out of the question to tell it to shut up this time.

 _“Bring him downstairs,”_ repeated the plush, _“or I start singing.”_

 _Yes, yes, alright!_ Bard thought, getting up to put the mugs in the kitchen's sink. It was _awful_ when they sang. He sighed, running his hands down his face. The talking animals were always here to help anyway. Everytime he had done what they had told him, things had gotten better for him and his family. This time was unlikely to make an exception. When he turned to go back to the living room, he saw through the door frame the blond man taking the books scattered across the table on his knees and putting them back in a perfect pile, before going back to staring at Smaug. Bard couldn't help but smile fondly at the sight. So, Thranduil was apparently more bothered by the mess than he dared to show. That was kind of good to know. And it was surprising, as he knew Thranduil usually said what he thought. Next time he'd come, Bard would made sure everything was fine and welcoming. Wait, _next time_? The cook slapped himself mentally, clearing his throat as he approached the blond.

“So, let's have a look at that façade shall we?”

The other man broke eye contact with the cat, who took it as a victory as he finally got up to curl up on the sofa once again, but not without glancing a death stare at his new enemy. The feline had so much personality it made Bard wonder about animals' intelligence, but maybe that was just Smaug. Anyway, that was another subject.

“Sure,” Thranduil said with a nod of the head as his long blonde hair fell down his back and shoulders. Bard retained himself from staring by going to the closet to take a coat and put it on. The winter was colder than ever before this year, its bite aggressive and dangerous. Even for a few minutes, he wouldn't tempt the devil by going out with just a shirt on.

Once they were outside, the first thing Thranduil did was giving a disgusted look at The Arkenstone right across the street, probably thinking Bard wouldn't see, but he was next to him faster than he had thought and managed to catch it before the blond's gaze turned neutral, almost emotionless, again. Did he like The Esgaroth that much?

“So, what do you think?” Bard asked, gesturing at the façade, getting Thranduil's gaze at the rival restaurant out of his mind. Gods, it looked awful. The painting was crackled, the windows looked like they were going to fall apart at any time, and the restaurant's name was almost invisible. He had never took the time to have a proper look at The Esgaroth's exterior, even though he knew it didn't look well, and now he happened to wonder how the hell he managed to still have customers.

“Mmh... it needs repainting, obviously. I think it would look better in a light colour with incurved patterns of...” Thranduil had started exposing his opinion as if he had thought about it for a while, but he was unable to finish as a loud, familiar voice had suddenly cut his words off, coming from behind them.

“YOU!” There was a short pause, then the voice sounded even angrier. “YES, YOU! THRANDUIL OROPHERION!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance about the next chapter. For different reasons.  
> Thank you so much for all the kudos and hits and comments, it means the world to me!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay guys here it is. A smaller chapter though, sorry about that!
> 
> Thank you to SomewhatByronically for making this fic better with her great editing skills. ♥

Both men had turned to meet the owner of the voice. Thranduil's face becoming as cold as ice, woo it even mentioning his eyes. Bard's face was one of utter surprise: standing in front of them was Thorin Oakenshield, his fists clenched and face twisted with anger. Completely confused, Bard's gaze went from Thranduil with an expression that his did not recognize toThorin, even more furious than the day Smaug had ripped apart his brand new drapes. They were looking at each other with indescribable disgust. Before either of them could say something, the cook took a step forward, hands raised at chest level.

“Wait, you _know_ each other?” There was a tension in his voice, reverberating in the air like a violent storm. A grunt from the smaller man and not even a glance from Thranduil was all he apparently needed to know: they had met before and it had not ended well.

Thorin got closer, now a meter away from Thranduil who stood taller than usual, proud and menacing, gloved hands clasped in front of him. Bard didn't like it. It seemed as if they both could jump at the other's throat at any moment.

“How dare you coming back here?” Thorin almost yelled, his chin up in a defiant way.

“I didn't know this road belonged to you, Oakenshield,” Thranduil's voice was deeper than ever before, his calm tone making him sound even more dangerous. He didn't bother to smirk, and that said a lot about how he felt about the owner of The Arkenstone.

Gods, what the hell was happening?

“You do know you're not welcomed around here.” Thorin replied between his teeth.

“Guys, please...” The cook tried, fighting the questions popping inside his head, but he was cut short by the blonde man before he could continue.

“Stay out of this, Bard,” Thranduil's voice was harsh and cold.

It was like Bard had been stabbed in the guts, and for once again Thranduil didn't give him the slightest look, acting as if he was some common stranger. At this exact moment, they were back at Thranduil's first visit to The Esgaroth, and it hurt Bard in a way he would have never expected. Maybe because he would have never thought this could happen, which made it even more difficult to take in. He took a step back, but didn't leave, not when he felt things could disintegrate at any second. If the hate surrounding them was anything to go by.

Bard felt completely lost. They had gone from a nice, pleasant afternoon, talking, drinking tea, smiling, feeling just _fine_ , and now, suddenly, they were here. Bard stood between two angry men who had some mysterious things to settle, unable to do anything more than listen and hope it wouldn't come to punches. He didn't think it was Thranduil's style, but he believed it was definitely Thorin's. At least, Thorin was the one most likely to make the situation turn bad. And that was the last thing they needed.

They stared at each other in silence for a moment that Bard felt was like hours. He couldn't know what would happen next. It depended on what Thorin wanted from Thranduil. Insults, maybe? Bard remembered with a shiver of Legolas' look the last time Thranduil had felt insulted. You didn't want to be around, according to the teenager. His father's fury could be terrifying, yet remaining calm and cold. It wasn't something Bard wanted to witness anyway, so he dearly hoped they wouldn't get to that. As none of them made a move to leave, Thorin finally spoke again, his voice smooth and mischievous.

“How's life, eh? Don't you get bored in your little study?”

Bard rolled his eyes. Really? Were they really going to do this? Was this street a primary school's playground or something? This time though, Thranduil smirked.

“You haven't changed, Thorin,” The tall blonde man slightly tilted his head on one side. “Trust me when I say I haven’t missed you.”

If there was something Bard was sure of, it was that Thranduil was slowly losing his patience. He may appeared calm, but he definitely wasn't. The cook had learned over the past weeks how the former lawyer didn't like to have his precious time wasted. His daily life followed a precise schedule, for most things. And talking about the façade with Bard was what he was supposed to do right now. Not enduring Thorin's bad mood or whatever it was.

“What do you want, Oakenshield?” Thranduil's voice sounded as cold as before, but he didn't bother to hide its hint of pure exasperation. “I have more important things to attend to.”

The smaller man smiled mischievously. _Oh no._ They were finally going to get to the point of this encounter.

“Yes, sure. You must be so busy, jobless as you are,.” He paused for a second, letting his gaze run down Thranduil's figure in a judgemental way. “Still hiding behind gloves, really? Are you ashamed of something, Oropherion?” Thorin provoked, and Bard felt as if cold icy water ran down his spine. _This was not good. Not good at all._ “Don't you want your dear friend to see you as you really are? Don't you trust him enough to let him see?”

And there, was pure meanness. There, you could see how far Thorin's hate for Thranduil went. Without further warning, he reached to the blond's left hand, easily getting the glove off thanks to the man's instinct recoil helping him in his action. Bard couldn't help but gasp at the sight offered to him, while Thorin looked very satisfied with himself. 

So that was why. That was why Thranduil kept his hands hidden. 

Burns. Deep burns. That was what covered Thranduil's hand, and they were almost painful to look at. For a moment, he could even feel his own chest getting hot and burning. Bard could have sworn he had seen his friend stiffened at the sound he had made, and guilt crept inside him. He looked away, turning his gaze to Thranduil's face, which showed nothing, at first sight. But Bard saw it. The hint of fear he knew all too well tainting the man's features. He recognized it, because he had wore it himself. The same fear of judgement, of disgust, and most of all, of the memories of fire and pain that came with everything else.

Thranduil got his glove back with a death glare to Thorin, putting it back with a hastiness betraying how the situation, how being exposed and revealed like that to Bard, had had an effect on him.

“You're going too far, Oakenshield.” The man's voice, still cold and calm, had now a hint of threat in it. Bard was pretty sure that would he have had a gun and less self-control, Thorin would be dead right now. Bard took a step forward. He wanted to help. He wanted to tell him how much he understood. He softly gripped Thranduil's shoulder, squeezing it gently. The blond shivered, his traits hardened, and he got out of his reach, not looking at him and how, how Bard wanted him to.

“I don't want your pity.” His voice was almost a whisper. A cold, distant one. _So wrong, he was so wrong._

“Thran, I...” _I don't care. I understand. Just look at me._ The rest of his words were useless to be spoken, for Thranduil had turned away in a flip of his beautiful silvery hair and was already heading to his expensive car's door. A few seconds later the engines of the electric car started silently and he was leaving, without another word, without another look.

There was something weird in all this. Thranduil would never have given up a fight. Especially not against someone like Thorin, who he obviously despised with all his being. It didn't feel right. Did Thranduil care more about what he, Bard, thought of him, _physically_ , than about never letting Thorin win such a childish little altercation?

“Yeah, and don't come back, you scum!” Thorin yelled, triumph all over his face, like the little brat he actually was right now. Bard wondered if it was even possible to be more childish than him.

“What. Was. That?!” Bard took a step towards the man, his voice not as calm as Thranduil's had been. He wanted all his confusion to be heard, his complete lack of approval for what had just happened. He stared at the smaller man, wondering how Thranduil had managed not to punch him in the face, for Thorin’s attitude had been extremely cruel.

“Just good old revenge.” Thorin shrugged like if it was nothing, like if he was actually proud of the hurt he had caused. “The bastard deserved it.”

Bard's fists clenched. He didn't like hearing his friend being insulted. And it was so low, so below Thorin. He knew the owner of The Arkenstone wasn't a bad person, otherwise he wouldn't let Sigrid go to his apartment regularly. He was just too much rancorous, and had some bad manners. But right now, there was nothing he could say to make Bard feel less disgusted by his attitude.

“I expected better from you, Thorin.” He didn't even bother to hide his revulsion. He was sick of this man. Literally. The only reason he wasn't insulting him was Sigrid. If it hadn't been for her friendship with Thorin's nephews, he would have hold nothing back. Bard didn't even want to know what had actually happened in the past that could explain such a deep hate. He didn't care about what was the story between the two men right now. He cared about how Thranduil had not looked at him. He knew exactly why, exactly what the former lawyer was thinking and how it could have been spared if he had just looked at Bard.

“You might not want him near your place, but he was right,” Bard continued, then paused again. “The street does not belong to you. You can't just tell him to go away because you don't like him.”

“Of course, I know that, Bard,” Thorin rolled his eyes at him, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I'm not an idiot. If I didn't I would have entered your old raggedy thing weeks ago and kicked him out.” 

Bard ignored the sting, as well as the judgemental look given to him. He didn't have time for this, so he took the words upon himself. 

“Then why...”

“I told you.” Thorin cut him as he turned towards his restaurant. “Good old revenge.”

Bard wondered if his face had turned red as things got clear in his mind: it had just been an excuse. An act to get to one of Thranduil's weakest points. Thorin had known for weeks of Thranduil's presence around here. He had known about his growing friendship with Bard. He had not really been angry, or not as much as he had looked. He had just waited for the right moment to come out and... _Oh, the bastard._ Not thinking much more, as he didn't want to get furious, he went after the smaller man, grabbing his arm with as much self-control as he was able to.

“It was cruel. I don't care what happened between you two, but it was.”

“Oh come on, what's the problem?” Thorin got away from his grip with one quick movement, giving Bard a warning look not to go further. “He'll weep for the rest of the day at the reminder of how disgusting he is inside, that's all. Don't you worry.”

 _You are wrong, and you really are a freakin' moron, Thorin Oakenshield,_ Bard thought as the owner of The Arkenstone stepped inside his restaurant, _because that's exactly what I worry about._ Bard sighed, running his hands down his face. _"Bring him downstairs"_ the pony plush had said. Weren't they supposed to help? Weren't they supposed to make things better? They had always did. Bard felt like if his heart was gonna break inside of his chest again. He felt like if something precious and fragile had been destroyed, ripped apart and the pieces had been shattered all around him. Like if the talking animals had fucked up his only proper relationship with anyone else than his children, sent away his only friend.

Bard took a deep breath. It was too soon to panick. They weren't there yet.

He doubted Thranduil would question his own choices or whatever Thorin blamed him for, but he would definitely question what Bard henceforth thought of him. How could Bard know? He could because he had seen how Thranduil gave importance to how he appeared to people. Always perfect, proud and flawless. He was the kind of person who cared about his looks. That was one reason. Then, there were the ones the cook understood all too well. Some were bad, useless worries, as Thranduil should not worry about what he, Bard, thought of such terrible marks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Don't get me wrong I love Thorin, but well, I also love his hate relationship with Thranduil.) btw, Thorin is not as much of a dick as this chapter lets think. You'll see in a future chapter :)
> 
> I swear it is the only fluffless chapter of this fic. It's been extremely difficult writing it as I feared I did things wrong or something, maybe because of the change of tone and the seriousness of the chapter? I don't know. I hoped you liked it anyway! As always, thank you for the comments and kudos and hits, they make me so, so glad! 
> 
> Next chapter includes more revelations, and the return of cuteness and stuff. :3


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the delay, but the chapter is finally here! I've been quite busy with HobbitCon and life and stuff. I hope you'll like it.
> 
> As usual thank you to SomewhatByronically for editing this thing ♥

Bard was setting the tables for the Saturday lunch service, listening to an enthusiastic Tilda telling him about her week at school, how her friends where amazing and her teachers fun and how she loved them all. As she was handing him forks and knives, Bard couldn't help but let his mind slip away to the day before: after Thorin had left, the cook had found himself standing helplessly in the middle of the quiet street for a good five minutes until a car had got him out of his reverie and he had gone back to his apartment. The evening service had been a disaster: Bard had forgotten orders, broken two plates, forgotten lasagnes in the oven and eventually Sigrid had it found necessary to send him get some rest upstairs. Assuring him working alone would be much more easier than with him in such a state. He had agreed after some protestations and spent time with Tilda and Bain, watching TV, Smaug purring on his lap. But his mind stayed elsewhere, far away from the peacefulness of their home.

He wondered what he should have done about Thranduil. What should he do about Thranduil?  Should he call him? Should he have taken his car and followed him? Should he go to his house? Bard didn't know, and it weighed on him. He finally convinced himself it would be better to leave the blond man alone for a few hours and wait for the next day, for it had become usual for the Oropherions to have lunch most Saturdays at The Esgaroth, so Bard hoped Thranduil would be there and that he would have the occasion to talk with him.

But as lunch grew closer Bard grew more and more anxious about it. Would he come? What if he didn't want to see him again? What if...?

“Da, are you listening to me?”

Bard suddenly snapped back to reality, looking down at his youngest with an apologetic smile. He gently stroked her hair, bending down to kiss her forehead. “What were you saying, love?”

The little girl took a thinking pose, her chin between her small fingers as she wondered if she should keep on talking about school or start on another subject. When she finally decided, she laid a soft gaze on Bard's face, suddenly looking much more wise than she was.

“Are you thinking about mister Thranduil?” She asked innocently, poking shyly at his hand as she sway on her feet.

“Yes.” He didn't bother to lie, as there was no point anyways. He didn't hide how fond he was of their favourite customer and employer from any of his children.

“You're worried about him.”

“How do you know?” How _could_ she know? He had told Sigrid about what had happened, and his eldest would never have told... oh.

“I can see it when you're worried!” Tilda exclaimed, swaying as she always did when she hid something from him.

“Tilda, you know it's bad to listen through doors, don't you?” He gave her a severe look, but his slight smile betrayed how not angry he was.

“Yes, I'm sorry... but you looked sad so I wanted to know why, da.” She raised her arms for a hug, but Bard gathered the little girl into his arms instead and let her braid a lock of his dark hair, which had once again come untied.

“I'm not sad. But I think Thranduil is.” He hesitated for a second. “What do you think I should do, darling?”

Bard liked to ask his younger daughter for advice. He knew she would speak from the heart, with the innocence of childhood. It was sometimes true, that wisdom and truth came from the mouth of children. Tilda thought for a moment, until she smiled and waved her hands with enthusiasm.

“If he's sad then you have to hug him!” She said with a bright smile as she started to make another braid. Well, that was an idea. But he couldn't do that. He didn't feel he was allowed to, even if it was something that worked pretty much all the time. But Thranduil didn't need a hug to feel better, as it would only comfort him in the idea that Bard pitied him. Which was the last thing both of them needed. There would be a time for hugs, after they had spoken and made things clear.

“Well, unfortunately I can't right now.”

“Then you should go to him,” she said, though still concentrated on finishing her task, “make him food. He loves your food, I know he does, he told me. And watch a film. Everybody likes that.”

 _“Yeah, go to him!”_ A voice from the table confirmed, at which Bard had to resist the urge to roll his eyes at.

Bard smiled fondly at his daughter, ignoring how the whale salt shaker had suddenly spoken with a weird enthusiam. Aye, everybody likes that. “Thank you, love. I might just do that.” 

He put her back on the ground after kissing her cheek. She laughed and ran to Sigrid in the kitchen, asking her if she could help her with the pasta sauces. Bard wondered if going to Thranduil was actually a good idea. Maybe he would be sent away. Maybe he should just call. He didn't know. Right now, he could only hope Thranduil would come for lunch. If he didn't, Bard would have to make a decision.

________________________

As the end of the lunch service approached, Bard had started to believe he wouldn't see his friend today. He had even sent Sigrid upstairs, convincing her to go help Bain and Tilda with their homework while he cleaned everything up. But just after the who Bard thought was the last lunch customer left, a flash of hope accompanied a flash of blonde hair, Bard had a hint of hope. Except it wasn't Thranduil who entered the restaurant; it was Legolas. It was difficult for the cook to hide his deception, but he managed to get himself together as he took a step forwards, greeting the teenager with a wave of his hand. The boy answered with a nod of the head as he went to sit at his usual table. At the same time, it was unusual of him not to salute Bard with at least reserved enthusiasm.

“Thranduil's not coming today?” Bard asked, uselessly hoping he was maybe behind, parking the car or something, as Bard sat in front of the young man.

Legolas' blue eyes met his, and he grinned. “He said he was busy. And not hungry.”

Bard nodded, working desperately to hide the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach and wave of regret that threatened to overcome him from his face. So that was it. Thranduil didn't want to see him. Just for now, he wished. But Bard knew he couldn't make things right if he couldn't see his friend. He abruptly figured he couldn't call him: the discussion they needed to have wasn't one to have over a phone, but face to face.

“So, what will you have?” Bard enquired, putting his thoughts in a corner of his mind. Right now, work came first.

“Actually, I didn't come to eat.” Legolas said, looking away as if he still didn't know if he should have this conversation or not, putting a strand of his long golden hair behind his ear.

“Oh.” Not much for the "let's keep working and think about the Thranduil problem later" then.

“I came to talk.” Legolas hesitated. “Ada's been acting weird since yesterday. I know he was with you, he had told me you wanted his opinion about the refurbishment.”

Bard's brows frowned. “Weird? How weird?”

Legolas shrugged, his hands clasped on the table. “He looked... far away. He didn't eat much. I don't know. Something troubles him. But he wouldn't tell me anything.” He paused, looking at Bard straight in the eyes. “Bard, did something happen?”

The cook stayed silent for a minutes, pondering if he should tell the son what his father had not wanted to inform him of or not, until he sighed. If the boy was worried, he could let him know. After all, it wasn't that much of a big deal, was it?

“Well... everything was fine but we went outside and that's when we had a little... altercation... with Thorin Oakenshield.”

“Oh.” If Legolas' expression was anything to go by, he knew who Thorin was, and knowing he had talked to his father wasn't really good news. _You bet_ , Bard thought. “What happened?”

“Thorin acted like an idiot, obviously.” Bard stopped to run his fingers through his hair before telling Legolas about the exact thing that was probably the cause of Thranduil's behaviour. “Then... Thorin took off one of your father's gloves.”

Silence settled between them for two minutes that seemed to be the longest of Bard's life, as Legolas stared at him with uncertainty, a hint of horror appearing in his gaze for a second.

“So, you saw his...” The teenager started, only to be cut short by the cook.

“Yes. Listen, I really don't care. I've seen such burns before and I don't pity him for whatever happened to him.” Bard paused to sigh, ran a hand across his face and pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes. “I wanted to tell him that I understand, but he left too quickly.”

“Why didn't you call him then?” Legolas asked softly.

“Because it needs to be settled face to face. I know he won't believe me and he’ll think that I act only out of pity.” Bard gave the young man a meaningful look. “I don't.”

“Really?” The question sounded hesitant, even tainted with a distrust Bard knew all too well. People said often they understood when they absolutely didn't. It never helped. It just provoked anger, in the end. After a while, if people's behaviour never changed, it was as good a reason as any to cut off most relationships. It had happened far too often to Bard.

“Yes.” Bard's serious tone, added with his knowing look, was all the young man needed to believe him. He didn't ask further questions, probably feeling he didn't need to know more about what made Bard say so. Bard, on the other hand, wasn't done yet.

“Legolas, would you mind me asking what happened between your dad and Thorin?”

The boy stared at him, hesitant. Of course, he didn't know if he could tell the story, but if his hesitation told Bard something, it was obvious that Legolas had not been ordered not to talk about it.

“You can tell him I asked.” Bard added. He could have asked Thorin, but he doubted his version would be truthful. As for Thranduil, it wasn't exactly the moment.

“You do know the Oakenshield's have owned The Arkenstone for many years, right?” Legolas asked, straightening himself in his chair.

Bard nodded as his only answer. He knew indeed that the restaurant across the street was quite old, maybe even a hundred years old. It was famous for its age.

“Well, seven years ago they had some kind of money problems, or I don't remember exactly what it was about. But it was important. Ada took the case, and it was going well, but...” Legolas breathed in, looked away for a second before turning his gaze back to Bard's, an old pain tainting it slightly. “Something happened a few days before the trial, and Ada had to drop the case. He never took it back even after the judge agreed to delay it. Nor his job, actually.”

“The Oakenshield's lost and they had to close their restaurant. They never forgave him.” Legolas finished, giving Bard a sad smile as the man processed this new information. “... didn't you hear about it? You've been here for a while.”

 _“Exactly, so you'be better just go to him!”_ The whale tried again, taking Legolas's words out of their context, flapping its tail in the air in a exasperated way.

“Uh... aye.” It was Bard's turn to look at some spot on the wall as if it was incredibly interesting, a good way to prevent himself from two different things: staring at or answering to the salt shaker, and avoid any eye contact with the boy, an old habbit he had mastered for eight years now. “We were closed at the time.”

But then, he smiled, extending a hand to pat the teenager's shoulder gently. “Thank you for letting me know.”

Legolas got the message. Bard wouldn't explain any further, just like he himself hadn't, and shrugged. “It's not a secret anyway.”

Bard insisted on getting the teenager a free drink before letting him go after they exchanged a few words about how Smaug looked fat when he lied on the table, his belly offered to be petted.

His conversation with Legolas had sent Bard in the arms of an unpleasant feeling. All this was delicate. It needed to be handled carefully. Bard clenched his fists, determination dominating his face. He also knew that he couldn't let things end this way. He was going to go to Thranduil. And he was going to show him.

________________________

As soon as he had finished cleaning up and quickly told his children where he was going, Bard took his car and drove to Thranduil's house. He would talk to him whether he liked it or not, and he would be back in time at The Esgaroth for the evening service. Maybe it wasn't wise, but if he could stop the damage right now, he would. Bard had not even bothered to take off his apron or tie up his hair falling down around his face. And he found it difficult not to go faster, as he was a particularly careful driver. He wanted this unpleasant situation to end as soon as possible.

Bard was glad to find Thranduil's car parked near the huge house. He noticed a movement behind a window as he got out of his old car before he hurried to the door and knocked on it with determination. No answer. He knocked again, harder, but he met only the singing of the birds in the forest nearby.

“Thranduil, I know you're there.” Bard said loudly enough to be heard through the heavy door. “Will you not speak with me?”

Silence. “Please?” He tried.

Bard had not realized he had been holding his breath when the door slowly opened. Thranduil stood there, dressed in a black shirt and jeans probably worth ten more than his. Gloves on, as always. He laid his icy gaze on Bard, scrutinizing him with unsaid expectations. Bard didn't know how to feel about what he saw in Thranduil's eyes. Now that the two men were alone, they didn't look emotionless. He was no longert the stranger who had so coldly stormed off the day before. Even though Thranduil's gaze was still cold and distant, expressing his reluctance to talk with Bard, as well as those hints of fear of judgement and loss, there was also a small, warm light reminding Bard of some kind of affection mixed with genuine relief. As if Thranduil had feared he had frightened Bard away, just as much as he had feared to see him again.

“What do you want, Bard?” His voice didn't match his eyes, but it was still and calm.

“May I come in?”

Thranduil let out a resigned sigh after long seconds of staring, and finally stepped aside. Bard didn't wait to enter and headed to the kitchen, starting to look for the ingredients he needed. The cook was lucky: there was already some puff pastry. Good thing as he wouldn't have had time to make one himself, even if it didn't take as long as you could believe. Bad thing as it was always much better homemade.

“I'm pretty sure it's not Monday.” Thranduil's deep voice came from behind him, as he stepped inside the room.

“Do you have strawberries? Oh wait, here they are.”

“Bard, what are you doing?” The blond man asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Pie.” Bard answered, turning to face Thranduil with a smile.

“I hate pie.” Thranduil replied back.

Bard rolled his eyes at him. “You're such a spoilsport.” He said, giving the blond an exasperated look. “My pies are the best though. If you don't like this one, you can just fire me and I'll take it back home. My kids won't complain.”

Thranduil stared at him as Bard continued his pie, unable to prevent a small smile from appearing on his lips. A smile Bard was glad to see. The cook moved fluently across the kitchen, gathering everything needed to make a vegan custard.

“Are you gonna stand there or are you going to help me?” Bard asked, teasing in his voice. “I need the strawberries to be cut in slices.”

Without a word, Thranduil came to stand by his side, not missing the chance to push him slightly with his shoulder, almost making Bard spill his preparation all over his white shirt.

“Oï! What was that?” Bard exclaimed as he faked being offended, when actually it gave him a pleasant feeling of relief. Maybe it was not going to be as difficult as he had feared, especially after his discussion with Legolas.

“For coming uninvited.”

Both of them smiled and for a few seconds Bard forgot why he had come here in the first place, but there was still a tension in the air. Thranduil obviously knew Bard wasn't here just to make pie. The cook's eyes fell on the Thranduil's hands, the gloves making the work a bit more difficult than it should, just like when the former lawyer had helped chopping the mushrooms weeks ago.

“You know, it would be easier without these.” He said, sounding more like a statement than an advice though, despite his choice of words, with a nod to the faux leather black gloves. Instantly, Thranduil stiffened, darting Bard a "don't" look.

“Bard...” Thranduil started with a sigh, turning slowly to face the cook.

“Listen, I understand, I...”

“Oh please Bard, don't give me the ‘I understand’ speech.” Thranduil's tone had turned cold. Bard could feel that if the conversation lasted longer, the blond might just get angry, the subject being sensitive and definitely unwanted.

“Will you please let me finish?” Confronted by Bard's serious tone, Thranduil closed his mouth as he was going to continue. Obviously that wasn't what he had expected.

“I mean it, Thranduil, I really do.” Bard didn't give a chance for the blond to answer as he didn't wait to keep on talking. “I'm sorry about how I reacted yesterday. It was more due to surprise than anything else. I would never have imagined that you... that we... damn, how can I say it?”

Thranduil turned his head to the side, now expressing curiosity. His traits had quickly softened as he realized Bard’s sincerity, and probably wondered exactly what the cook meant.

“Yes...?” Thranduil encouraged, raising an eyebrow at him. “Bard?”

Bard sighed and took a deep breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “That we're more alike than I thought.”

Thranduil frowned. “What do you mean?”

Bard couldn't put words on what was clear in his mind. Now was the big moment, and it was frightening. He had never told anyone and definitely not showed anyone on purpose. But to him, it seemed like the most direct way to say things when you couldn't find the strength to speak: by showing them. And it was the ultimate way to make Thranduil feel comfortable about his marks. Bard got his hands out of his pockets, took off his apron and started unbuttoning the first button of his shirt as he looked straight into Thranduil's confused eyes.

“I saw yours.” The choice of words must have made Thranduil realize what Bard implied, because he frowned once again and then slowly his icy blue eyes widened. “I think it's only fair that you see mine.”

A second button, a third, not more, and Bard moved the fabric to reveal what Thranduil had thought he might have seen weeks ago in this same kitchen at this same spot. Thranduil's gaze went from the cook's face to the bit of torso and neck base offered to him. The tension in the air disappeared, replaced by a warm feeling of comprehension, or shared empathy. Because there were burns and scars scattered on Bard's skin. Burns just like Thranduil's. The heaviness put on their shoulders by Thorin had no place there, for the fear of the other's judgement had left to never come back.

“Now, will you please wash your hands and take care of those strawberries or are you going to keep on staring? I don't have all afternoon.” Bard asked, smiling gently. He thought about telling Thranduil to do as if nothing had happened the day before, but it didn't sound right. On the opposite, he felt as if they should always remember.

And then, Thranduil smiled back. Genuinely. He got it. Was there really anything to say? Bard knew mostly why Thranduil hid and Thranduil knew why Bard hid too. It wasn't difficult to figure it out: Bard did so to prevent his children from remembering bad times, as well as himself because of people's looks. Thranduil did because as his hands were scarred, he could not prevent anyone including himself from seeing, and probably for his own son too. Just like when they had learned about each other's wives on Bard's first day, they didn't need words to know they had found someone who really understood, who could see without judging or pitying. But there was something more to Bard's action, as cliché as it had been. It had been a sharing that needed a great trust and that should not be taken for less than it was worth.

Oh sure, they would get to the "how did it happen" discussion. But not now, for now they had something special.

Bard went back to the custard, unable to stop his lips from forming a smile as he caught Thranduil taking off his gloves and putting them aside at the corner of his eyes. He heard the flowing of water behind him and then, the blond was back by his side and started slicing the strawberries.

They had made a huge step, Bard could tell. They shared a similar pain which together, they could turn into a most-welcomed peace about their experiences, for they had found in each other someone like no other before. Oh sure, Bard was convinced that even if he had not had his own marks, he would have done everything to get to the same point. But here, it had actually helped to bring both of them to take down their barriers by doing, showing something they would never have thought they would ever do.

The warmth in his chest grew warmer than ever before, filling him with a feeling of utter peace, as he stood there, so close to Thranduil, having shared one of his most well-kept secrets, Bard understood. Yes, only then did Bard Bowman realize he might be in love with Thranduil Oropherion.

 _“A kiss never killed anyone,”_ said the deer on the fridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me you know I love you.
> 
> Thank you for your support, your comments and kudos always make my day!
> 
> OH AND YES I HAD FORGOTTEN: http://img11.hostingpics.net/pics/438045scars.jpg This is more or less what the scattering of their burns is like. Ignore my drawing skills, ahah!


	9. Chapter 9

“Wait, _what_?!”

Sigrid looked at Bard with eyes as big as the plate in front of her. The Bowman family was sitting around their little kitchen table, eating fried potatoes with apple sauce and chicken, one of his children's favourite dishes. They were almost done eating, but as usual Tilda took much more time than any of them. Sigrid and Bain were staring at him with amusement in their eyes, but the eldest's were also really, really, exasperated.

“What happened after that?” Tilda asked before Sigrid could continue.

When Bard had returned from Thranduil's house he had immediately been attacked with a thousand questions. Bard had promised he would answer most of them during dinner on Sunday as he had to work for the evening service, and he was surprised to see the children helping prepare dinner faster than ever before as soon as the time approached. He guessed they would want to know everything though, and so h phoned Thranduil to ask him what he could tell his children. Thranduil had agreed to let them know about his secret, just like Bard had agreed Thranduil could tell Legolas. They were just being realistic: their respective children knew something had happened; they also worried about them; and so: they deserved explanations. Explanations that couldn't really be given without getting to the delicate subject of the burns, as it had been the cause of the recent events. It had been years since he had last mentioned them his own to his kids, and he had been surprised to see nothing more than a flash of pain that quickly disappeared in Bain’s and Sigrid’s eyes.

Bard turned to his youngest, offering her a fond smile. “Well, I followed my little princess' advice.”

Tilda chuckled. “Di' you 'atch a 'ilm?” she inquired, even though her mouth was full of potato.

“Love, don't talk when you eat.” Bard instructed softly, poking at her nose. “And no, I didn't have time for that, but we did bake a pie.”

Bain and Sigrid exchanged a knowing look and Tilda clapped her hands, returning a bright smile to her father, not adding a word, as she was still chewing.

“You showed him your scars, but you _didn't kiss him_?” Sigrid exclaimed then, looking as if she was resisting the urge to hit her head against a wall. She was finally able to say what she had meant to before Tilda had cut into the conversation, as the youngest had turned her attention to something else.

At this second, Bard was glad Tilda was too busy giving some chicken to Smaug who sat on her lap to actually listen what was being said. Bard was not really fond of the idea of having to explain to her why her sister and her da were talking about scars and kissing her other favourite person in the whole world, Thranduil.

 _“Yeah, my buddy told him a kiss never killed anyone, but mister didn't listen. What an idiot,”_ said Tilda's dragon figure on the table with a sigh, as if someone else could hear it, and Bard had to fight the urge to send it a death glare. Was this actually happening? Were his children and animal objects seriously trying to get him with Thranduil? Really?!

“I didn't know those two things were not mutually exclusive.” He said as he ran his hand through his messy dark hair, feeling a bit awkward and trying to avoid the point they were making. In any romantic film, it was true that it would have been when they should have kissed, obviously. But Bard had just not dared, fearing it was not what Thranduil wanted. Thranduil had never tried to enter his personal space, after all. He had never made any move to let him know he wanted that. At the same time, neither had Bard.

“You're impossible.” Sigrid sighed.

“He's probably not even slightly interested in me! Have you seen him?” Bard let out a bit louder than intended, immediately mentally slapping himself as huge grins appeared on his children's faces. Even Tilda had looked up and curiosity shone from her bright eyes. “He's... I don't... no, why am I even having this conversation?”

“You _really_ are impossible, da.” Sigrid insisted before chuckling quietly.

 _“Yeah, you are,”_ said in unison Bain and... Tilda's dragon figure. Oh no, not the animals too!

“Oh no,” Bard groaned, “Not you too Bain!”

“Whaaat?” Bain shrugged. “It's true!”

“I don't even... I don't even see him being anything more than a friend!”

“That's not what you implied two seconds ago and that’s not what you said last night. By the way, since you were worried about that, we just want you to be happy, da. We don't care he's a man.” She gave her brother a quick look and Bain nodded vigorously in answer. Bard knew his daughter enough to understand she had to explain to him the concept of bisexuality (even though it was more 'complicated' than that in his case), and he felt a bit bad he didn't take care of that important discussion himself.

“What?” Bard didn't get it. He had never told anyone about how he felt, except... _oh_.

“Da, did you forget about your habit of talking to Smaug when you think we're sleeping?”

“I don't...” Bard tried, but he knew it was helpless.

“Da, you won't fool anyone here.  We all know you do.”

“In my defence, he's a very good listener. Great advice.” Bard said, trying to sound like if he didn't feel terribly awkward about this conversation.

“Yeah, sure, did he tell you to open your eyes? Cause that would be really helpful right now.”

“What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Listen da, Thranduil's got the biggest crush on you I've ever seen. And that's a teenager talking.”

Bard stared at her in disbelief. Thranduil didn't have a crush on him. Of course he didn't. He would have noticed, after all this time. He wasn't that oblivious.

“What's having a crush?” Tilda asked innocently, getting Bard out of his rambling denial.

“Tilda, darling, why don't you watch a film with Smaug?” Bard proposed with a gentle smile to the little girl. He wasn't going to have that discussion right now. Right now, he had to listen to what Sigrid meant. Tilda shrugged and as soon as she was running happily towards the television, holding Smaug in her arms, Bard turned to his eldest and took the most serious look he was able to give.

“Thranduil doesn't have a crush on me. We're just friends.”

“Yeah. He's 'just friends' with Tauriel, but I'm pretty sure he's never helped her with preparing her muffins the few times she came over for dinner. In fact I think he was too busy standing really close to you while you worked.” Bard opened his mouth to protest but Sigrid wasn't done yet. Oh no, she had _a lot_ to say. “He always sits right next to you when he could have a sofa for him alone. Should I remind about how he didn't kill you the two times you insulted him--what was that anyway?--or when you dropped his plate all over his shirt? Legolas told us he was very surprised you hadn't been fired. And gods, you obviously haven't seen how he looks at you when you're not paying attention!” All the while, Bain nodded with a grin. “Do I keep going?”

As Bain was trying not to burst out laughing seeing his father's expression, Bard was speechless.

All the things he had found weird, all the moments they had shared, they suddenly made sense. He had really been blind. Thranduil kept getting close to him, trying to know more about him, spending time with him, helping him, and Bard had just not understood how unusual it was from Thranduil, compared from their first meetings. But why hadn't Thranduil made a move forward, after all this time? Bard wanted to punch himself as he realized that it was probably because he had never done anything to show that he was getting Thranduil's messages. Because he didn't, that was why. Okay, Thranduil wasn't really expressive about all this, but still! _Bloody idiot_. Everything made sense.

Particularly that day, two weeks before, which jumped back to his mind as he realized how blind he had been. Oh boy, he felt even more like an idiot right now. He had been so convinced Thranduil was just a friend, that it was even surprising they had even gotten this far, that he had missed the most obvious signs of something more.

_It had been snowing for the past three days. The country was covered by a pure white cover, for kids and adults' pleasure. At least, most of them. Bard hated the snow. Oh yes, it looked nice, very nice, but it was cold and simply crossing the street became dangerous as he could slip. So when Thranduil had proposed a walk outside the house, the cook was not terribly enthusiastic. He had accepted though, because it was as simple as that: he couldn't say no to Thranduil, especially when all it was going to take him was some goodwill._

_Walking not far behind his friend, Bard was quite slow. He didn't feel comfortable, at all. He wasn't as graceful, agile, and light on his feet as Thranduil, and it showed in the way he followed the blond man under the skinny branches of the little wood's trees. From time to time, Thranduil turned to look at him with an amused smile lighting up his pretty face. And everytime he did, Bard made it more and more difficult for him not to laugh at his awkwardness._

_Thranduil managed until Bard's foot slipped on wet ground and with a "woooh!" of surprise he ended up sitting on the snow. The expression Bard gave Thranduil must have been priceless, for even though the blond was biting his bottom lip with a huge grin across his face, obviously trying to hold back his laugh, after a few seconds he just couldn't resist any longer and he burst out laughing. Bard had already heard Thranduil chuckle and laugh softly, but this was different. It sounded pure like crystal, filled with joy and lightness and it was beautiful. This sight of Thranduil was one Bard would be unable to get off his mind for a while. It was one he wanted to see all the time._

_Bard forgot the pain in his bum, and smiled. It took at least a minute for Thranduil to calm down, and he finally offered Bard his hand, helping him to get back on his feet._

_“Thanks,” Bard muttered. This was quite embarrassing, but he had seen worse._

_To his surprise, Thranduil patted him on the shoulder, for if they had become quite close, enough to call each other friends, the man was rarely more physical than brushing shoulders and handshaking._

_“You don't go out much often, do you?” Thranduil asked. Was that a fond smile? It was._

_“Aye.” Bard grinned as he cleaned his clothes of snowflakes and bits of branches. “I try to when it's warmer. I don't have much time for it, with the restaurant. But winter... I don't like winter very much, even less when it's snowing.”_

_Thranduil slightly tilted his head to the side. “Why? I find it peaceful... and it offers gorgeous landscapes.”_

_Bard shrugged. “Maybe. I would appreciate it more if it was less cold. And the snow less slippery.”_

_“Mmh.” Thranduil, once more, held back a laugh. “I can see why.”_

_Bard shot him a fake offended look and Thranduil chuckled softly as they went back to walking, Bard being even more careful than before._

_“You know, we're not going to get very far if you keep on being so slow.” Thranduil stated as he turned and walked to the cook. “Hold my arm.”_

_Bard stared at him with a suspicious look. Was he being serious, or was he trying to make fun of him somehow? “I'm not an old man.”_

_“Indeed.” Thranduil confirmed, smirking. “However, you're clumsy.”_

_He had a point. Bard sighed and finally accepted the help offered to him. It didn't change much at first, but step after step Bard quickly grew more comfortable on his feet. Maybe because he gripped Thranduil's arm like a life boat. He hated snow, yes, but right now he found himself relatively thankful for it. He had never been closer to Thranduil, and he wasn't going to complain. Such a thought made Bard blush, and he tried to take it out of his mind. He failed. Miserably._

_They wandered through the wood, exchanging smiles and shy glances between talks about anything that came to their minds. On the way back to the house, when their hands--despite their gloves--felt cold and their noses were red, something completely unexpected happened: Thranduil's foot got caught in one of the many roots scattered across the path and he would have fallen was it for Bard's reflexes; he quickly caught the blond by the shoulder and managed to prevent him from falling by pulling Thranduil back towards him--gods, he weighed even less than Bard would have ever imagined. All that ended with the two men's faces closer than ever before, noses only short inches apart. There was a silence as they looked deep into each other's eyes, holding their breaths. And Bard, like an idiot, made a step backward, deciding that all the signs were not what he hoped they were, because obviously, Thranduil would never want **that** with **him**._

_So instead, it was his turn to chuckle. “Who's clumsy now, mmh?”_

_For a second, Bard thought he saw a hint of disappointment tainting Thranduil's gaze and even his face, but no, he had probably misunderstood his expression._

_“I was, uh... distracted.” Had Thranduil just hesitated? Aye, he had._

_Bard didn't ask what distracted him. Nor why he looked a bit less enthusiastic for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. No, he was too busy putting himself down. What he had seen in Thranduil's eyes was not real and he didn't deserve any of it anyway._

Bard blinked. _Bloody idiot. How could I be so blind?_ Oh yes, he had been blind. He had been blinded by his certainty of being not good enough for Thranduil. _Freakin' idiot._ He ran his hands down his face, taking in all this most welcomed realization. It scared him and made him happy at the same time. Maybe more relieved than anything else actually, because he couldn't help a smile. _Thranduil had a crush on him._ And he probably had for a while. As much as it was pleasant to know, Bard also felt a bit bad for not seeing the obvious sooner. Thranduil had been so patient. So, so patient that Bard was overwhelmed by the idea of the blonde man waiting for him for so long. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve _him_. And yet, here they were.

“Well, it feels good, I couldn't take it any longer.” Sigrid said, snapping the last bits of Bard's mind back to the warmth of their little kitchen. She stood up and started collecting plates and forks, putting everything in the sink. “Da, are you okay?”

“Uh, yes. I just feel a bit stupid right now.” Bard confessed. _Also I should have this kind of conversation with my children, not the other way around._ He sighed, stood, and was heading to the sofa to watch the film with Tilda, determined to just relax a bit, when he was stopped before he could take a step out of the kitchen.

“So, just call him and ask him out,” said Bain abruptly, outpacing Sigrid.

“Are you really giving me dating advice?” Bard turned and gave his son a grin.

“Yeah, you're apparently a bit rusty,” Sigrid added, amusement sparkling in her bright eyes.

Bard sighed, but smiled fondly at them. There was a relieving warmth in his chest. His children's consent was something he had been worried about. After all, it could be difficult to see someone else entering their father's heart. Seeing they were totally okay with it, and even encouraging it, was extremely reassuring. He also didn't need to hide his feelings from them--and himself, now that he knew Thranduil felt the same--anymore, for they had read through him for a while already.

“Okay, I will.” Bard faked an acceptance with resignation. He felt actually quite joyed at the idea, even though he hadn't been on a date for... years. He didn't even remember how they worked exactly. What he was supposed to do or say? The thought was a bit frightening, but exciting all the same, for he knew the person he was going to invite had been waiting for this as much as he had.

“Gods, it's about time!” Sigrid exclaimed, clasping her hands and giving her brother a huge meaningful smile, which Bain returned with a quick happy look at his father.

To this, they gestured him to go sit and relax before he would have to go downstairs for the evening service, assuring him they would take care of the kitchen. So, Bard sat next to Tilda who didn't wait to curl against his chest, her eyes not leaving _Beauty and the Beast_ as she gently stroked Smaug's head. Bard's gaze fell on Tilda's plush, and as it had felt itself being watched, the pony turned its head towards him and gave him what he supposed was a mischievous look.

 _“Finally!”_ The plush said, rolling its plastic eyes at him. _“But we're not done with you yet. You might want to take a look at your phone, by the way.”_

Bard frowned and didn't bother to answer, certainly not with his children so close, but he did take his phone out of his jeans pocket. Just as he unlocked the screen, the phone started vibrating, showing Thranduil's name in white bright letters, along with a picture he had managed to convince the former lawyer to let him take, a few weeks ago. Bard accepted the call and put the device to his ear.

“Oh, Thranduil, uh, I was going to ca...”

\- “Will you have dinner with me?” Thranduil cut him off, his voice sounding strangely hopeful.

“What, wait, yes, bu...” Bard stuttered, taken aback. _He_ was supposed to ask that!

\- “Good. Meet me at Rivendell at 8 tomorrow.”

Thranduil hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FREAKIN' FINALLY, RIGHT?  
> I can't wait to post chapter 10. It's a big baby. Bigger than chapter 5. Brace yourselves.
> 
> Thank you, as always, to SomewhatByronically for editing this thing! <3 And thank you to you all for commenting and everything, your reactions never fail to make me smile!


	10. Chapter 10

_Meet me at Rivendell at 8 tomorrow._

Rivendell? Seriously? What did Thranduil want exactly, putting him to shame? Didn't he know Rivendell was the most prestigious restaurant in town? People there wore suits ten times worth his entire apartment! And let's not talk about the dishes! Okay, maybe not that much, but still. Of course Thranduil knew. He was used to this kind of restaurants, before he started frequenting Bard's Esgaroth. But why on Earth would he take Bard to such a place?

Bard didn't want to ask questions though. He figured himself lucky enough to be invited by Thranduil, and if he had to be honest, he had always wanted to know what all the fuss was about Rivendell. He had never imagined he would ever step in there, yet here he was, looking at himself in the mirror of the bathroom, trying to decide whether he should wear a light blue or a white shirt. One thing was sure: those two were the best-looking he possessed, as well as the jeans he had chosen. _Jeans_. He was going to look like a clown in there. He didn't care that much, but at the same time, he feared Thranduil would, being accompanied by someone like him. _Gods, great, I’m doing the "let put myself down" thing again._ Bard thought.

The thing was, even though Bard now knew their feelings were mutual, Thranduil, himself, didn't know yet. He had invited him on this date without even imagining Bard had realized all the efforts Thranduil made to make him see what he felt for the cook. He had invited Bard to dinner, thinking there was still some work to do before getting somewhere. But why had he, and why only now? Probably because of Saturday's events. It was the most logical explanation, Bard thought, he understands why, and he wasn't going to complain.

He sighed heavily, just as Sigrid slipped her head in between the door and its frame. “Do you need any help?” she asked with a smile, giving the two shirts an approving look.

Bard gestured her to enter, trying his best not to hide his burns and scars from her sight. It had been a while since she had last seen them. But he wanted to move forward. When Bain and Sigrid had not reacted with surprise or disgust at the mention of the marks he had hid from them it was a reassuring surprise. It's not they did not care for the thought. It just did not made them sad. There had been the expected hint of pain, but it was so... _so_ small, nothing more. To his surprise, it had not pained him more than usual either. Bard didn't fear to remember his wife, for he would never want to forget about her. What he feared to remember was how she had died and how it brought suffering to his mind, his body, and his family. That was much different. But Sigrid noticed how he had slightly stiffened, and her gaze turned particularly soft.

“Da...” She started, getting closer to bring him into a hug.

“Blue or white?” Bard cut her off, only earning him a look of disagreement. Apparently, she wanted to say something and she was going to, whether he wanted her to or not.

“We don't care, you know.” She said, pulling away to look at him straight in the eyes. “You think they're a way to remind us of how we lost mum and what you had to go through but... we don't.”

Bard blinked, feeling a wave of emotion rushing through him.

“We see them as a reminder of how strong you've been for us.”

“You do?” He asked hesitantly, a small, unsure smile playing on his lips. Sigrid nodded, her gaze soft. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“We didn’t dare, I guess. You put so much importance even into hiding from strangers' looks, that we quickly figured out you had your own reasons to do so. That it would be better not to bring the subject to the table. At least not until something happened that told us it would be okay.” She smiled slightly, her eyes not leaving his. “With time we didn't even think about it anymore, but the fact you opened yourself up to Thranduil seemed like a good sign to make things clear.”

A huge grin appeared on Bard's face. He didn't know what to say exactly, but he knew how he felt. He felt courage. He felt he could definitely turn the page. First Thranduil, now Sigrid. He could do this. He could go out, let everyone see, let everyone give him their sad, pitying or disgusted looks, and he wouldn't care. Because Thranduil and his children saw them in a much different light. It was his turn to do the same. To take strength from them, instead of the pain of the memories. This conversation just convinced him into going where he wanted to go.

“Thank you, darling,” he said, squeezing her arms gently. He was glad she had told him. It gave him strength, and washed away some old worries he had been desperate to get rid of. He wanted to hug her, but the clock was ticking. “So, blue or white?”

Sigrid thought for a second, looking at the two shirts with great concentration. “Blue, for a change.”

He smiled and put it on, giving his eldest a grateful look. Sigrid's smile was huge as Bard didn't close the last two buttons of his shirt. He was going to ask her if he looked alright, not planning on wearing anything more than a jacket over it, but then, she opened the drawer next to them nonetheless, as if she knew exactly what she was looking for, and got a tie out, swinging it on front of her father's eyes.

“With this tie,” she announced, sure of herself.

“Sigrid, there are little dragons on it.” Bard stated with a raised eyebrow.

“I know, it's so cute!”

“I'm _not_ opening myself up to ridicule on my first date with Thranduil.”

“You're just having dinner you know. Just like _every Monday_.”

Bard was not convinced at all. “Aye, maybe, but you know this is different. We're talking about _Rivendell_ here.”

“Come ooon, Thranduil will love it!” And before he could do anything, she put the navy colored tie embroidered with white dragons around his neck and started tightening it, a grin lighting up her face, obviously very proud of herself. “The others' colours don't match at all anyway. Oh and I'm going to tell Tilda you'll wear it, so you can't take it off.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don't.”

Bard sighed, falsely offended, before he put on a navy blue jacket and turned towards the mirror to brush his hair. As he did so, Sigrid went out of the room, chuckling, and Bard couldn't help himself from grinning too. He tried to put it into his usual bun, but he failed miserably and decided it would have to do as-is. His gaze fell on his only bottle of perfume, left unused for many years. Bard stared at it for a few seconds, then shrugged and put some on his neck. Hopefully, it still smelled good.

Bard then headed to the door after getting his coat and kissing his children goodbye. Bain gave him a mysterious knowing look, Tilda's eyes were sparkling as she saw his tie, and Sigrid followed him to the room, happiness shining through her features. She put a kiss on his cheek and before he left down the stairs, she called him back.

“Oh da!”

“Yes, love?”

“Don't forget to kiss him this time.”

*

At 7:59 P.M. exactly, Bard entered Rivendell. Not before having spent ten good minutes looking at the restaurant from his car, cursing Thranduil for choosing such a stylish place. Bard kept checking his face in the rearview mirror, in case he had something between his teeth or at the corner of his lips or a lock of hair completely misplaced, like some teenager going out on his very first date. Taking a deep breath, he finally left the security of his car and walked towards the restaurant, trying to look as sure of himself as all the fancy people getting inside as well. He ignored the stares they all gave him when they noticed how out of place he looked -which did not take them long, really- with his jeans, old shoes, common shirt and jacket, and his t... _oh shit._ His tie. He had not taken off his tie. Oh gods.

“... sir?”

Bard had not realized he had been standing in front of the reception without saying a word, until the man standing behind the desk and looking at him with a small smile Bard wasn't sure how to interpret, called after him. He was probably thinking Bard had walked into the wrong restaurant.

“Can I help you, sir?”

“Uh, yes, sorry. I'm supposed to meet someone... Thranduil Oropherion?” Bard said, feeling absolutely uncomfortable in the sparkling Rivendell, with its pure white walls, decorated with silver patterns, its well-dressed waiters looking as fancy as their customers. Let's not even talk about the tables, the chairs, the dinner service, the cutlery and the glassware. The whole place put the Esgaroth to shame. But it was two different worlds and atmospheres, so he tried not to think about it too much.

The man raised an eyebrow at him, surprised at hearing the name. He then took the time to look up and down Bard's figure in a far too judgemental way. He apparently didn't find the situation amusing anymore. “Are you sure you're not mistaken?”

To this, Bard's fists clenched. “Why would I be?” He sent an angered glare at the receptionist, letting him feel how he was not appreciating the way he was being treated just because he didn't fit well enough. His voice stayed calm though, as the last thing he wanted was to be kicked out. “Is there a problem?”

Before the man could answer, Bard felt a hand on his shoulder, and a familiar, deep voice rose behind him. “Bard, there you are.” The cook turned to meet Thranduil, dressed in a gorgeous grey suit, his hair as usual falling down his shoulders, his icy blue gaze filled with amusement, which turned to disapproval as he cast it towards the receptionist with a cold smirk. “Thank you very much, Lindir. I'll take it from here.” And to those words, he grabbed Bard by the wrist and lead him to the main room towards a table just near a window, where there was much less noise than anywhere else in the restaurant.

“I'm sorry about that.” Thranduil said as he took place on his chair. “I should have waited for you at the door.”

“It's okay,” Bard answered with a shy smile, finally noticing the fondness in Thranduil's eyes. Gods, he really had been stupid, all this time. “I'm pretty sure he was going to tell me to go away, though.”

“People judge appearances too fast indeed.” Thranduil's words reminded Bard of one of their first discussions, the second time the blonde man had come to his restaurant. They exchanged another knowing smile, until Thranduil's gaze fell on Bard's tie. He stared at it for a few seconds, a huge grin slowly making its way on his features.

“Are there little dragons on your tie?”

“Please don't laugh,” was all Bard managed to answer at first, trying not to blush too much. “It's an old gift from Sigrid, but Tilda chose it. She didn't leave me much choice.”

Thranduil raised both his gloved hands at chest level, chuckling softly. “I think it's cute.”

“No you don't.” Bard muttered, crossing his arms against his chest.

“I do!” Thranduil insisted, smiling that infectious smile Bard wanted to see all the time and that he could never prevent himself from giving back. At that moment, someone cleared their throat and they both looked up to meet a waitress, waiting to hand them the menu, staring at them with an expression of genuine amusement. She politely offered them a glass of wine, which Thranduil accepted, but Bard refused, asking for water instead. To that she went away with a strange smile on her face, going straight to a man dressed in a suit, keeping a watchful eye on the room, who sent them a curious look as the young woman talked to him with enthusiasm.

“Who's that?” Bard asked, noticing how Thranduil shot the man with long black hair a "don't you dare" kind of look, smirking nonetheless.

“It's Elrond, the owner, and an old friend of mine.” Thranduil answered as he turned the pages of the menu, certainly looking for the vegan dishes. “And his daughter, Arwen. Ignore them, they just can't wait to tease me about... this.” He gestured at their table, and sighed, concentrating again on the many choices he had.

“And what is this, exactly?” Bard asked, clasping his hands on the table in a conspiratorial way, even though he knew the answer. He just wanted to hear it from Thranduil's mouth, to have confirmation.

“Well, you know...” Thranduil looked up once again, with a bit of hesitation. “You. Me. Having dinner. Alone.”

“So... it's a date.” Bard stated, unable to stop himself from smiling, probably like the biggest idiot who had ever walked in this restaurant.

Thranduil grinned back. “It is.” Bard guessed it had to be difficult for Thranduil not to blush, if the slight shade of red at the point of his ears was anything to go by, and Bard couldn't help but think it was quite adorable. And adorable was not a word he used often when he thought about Thranduil. Himself, on the other hand, was absolutely not able to hide his blushing. Gods, he _really_ felt like a teenager on his first date, which was quite embarrassing. “So what will you have?”

“Oh, yes.” Bard opened the menu, only to almost choke at how expensive the dishes were. In comparison, his own prices were practically... free. He glanced at Thranduil, who was apparently having a hard time choosing what he wanted to eat. That's when a very close acute voice rose up. Too close and too small to be anyone's around. _Oh no._

 _“Don't mess it up, Bard!”_ It was the crystal swan on the table. _Great, it had to happen tonight, obviously. “Oh and you should take off that tie.”_

Trying not to look at the bird, for Thranduil would only need a look to notice his demeanor, Bard obliged and put the tie in his jacket's inside pocket: if the amused looks people gave him could stop right now, he wasn't going to complain. He darted a quick "now, shut up" look at the swan, went back to the menu, and made his choice just in time for the so-called Arwen to arrive with their glasses. She then took out her notepad and smiled, not missing the chance to give Thranduil a meaningful wink which made Bard wanting to bury himself, immediately.

Thranduil smirked. “I'll have your 10-Spice Vegetable Soup for starter, and then your 4-Vegetable Lasagne, please.”

“Good choices, Thranduil, as usual.” Arwen then turned to Bard, her gaze scrutinizing him with curiosity, making him feel particularly exposed. “What about you, sir?”

“Uh...” Bard gave a final look at the menu, before he put it down and closed it, smiling kindly at the young woman. “I'll go for the Shrimp Croquettes and the Pan Seared Salmon, please.” Bard hated how everything cost so much, but he knew it was far from bothering Thranduil, so he didn't say anything, but it didn't hide how uncomfortable it made him nonetheless.

“Very well. I wish you a pleasant evening.” Both of them tried to ignore the look she casted them before she left to deliver the orders. After that, there was an awkward silence that Thranduil was the first to break with a sigh.

“I'm sorry, I didn't expect them to be _that_ obvious,” he said, rolling his eyes. “But I really wanted to bring you to the second best restaurant in town.”

Bard raised an eyebrow. “Second?” As far as he knew, Rivendell was the best restaurant in town, if not the country. You had to book months in advance, unless you had contacts, which was Thranduil’s case, apparently.

“Yours comes first, of course.”

Bard stared at Thranduil for a second, and then started laughing. “You're not serious.”

“Trust me, I am.” Yes, Thranduil was dead serious, and you could see it in his eyes, stopping Bard's laugh in an instant.

“Oh.” Bard's expression was one of disbelief. He felt incredibly flattered, and didn't know where to look. Because that was probably the best compliment he had ever heard about his restaurant, _ever_. And coming from Thranduil, it was even more precious. “Th-thank you.”

They rose a silent toast, smiling at each other like if they didn't need anything else to communicate, and Bard brought the glass of water to his lips, just as Thranduil did the same to his of wine.

_“Okay that's nice, very cute and everything, but don't you think it's getting a bit hot in here?”_

Bard somehow managed not to choke on his water, and even more difficult, not to send a death glare at the crystal swan. What was that even supposed to mean? As if it had read his thoughts, the bird gestured to Bard's neck, and he could have sworn it had rolled its eyes. _Oh, right._ The shirt. Yes. Bard had actually thought about opening two or three buttons, to feel more comfortable. It was a thought he would never have had a few days ago, as he had been used to his shirts fully buttoned, even without a tie. But he had decided to move forward. He remembered Sigrid's proud look when he had let a few buttons undone, before she handed him that tie. He remembered what she had said and how it had given him courage, how it had reminded him he didn't have to care, because there was something actually good coming from his marks: without them, it would have taken many more weeks, even months for Thranduil and him to sit in this restaurant. The events linked to the scars belonged to the past. The pain was long gone. All he had to do was not think about it. Just remember that his children, as well as Thranduil, didn't see them how other people did. Therefore there was no reason he should follow the strangers' line of thoughts. He could do this. He knew he could.

And after all, it was indeed getting hot in here.

So, Bard unbuttoned three of his shirt's buttons, welcoming a bit of air against the base of his neck. Something that would sound normal to most people. But to Bard, it was a big step, maybe even bigger than the one he had made in Thranduil's kitchen two days ago. And Thranduil knew so. His eyes slightly widened as Bard smiled, taking a sip of water as if he had done nothing out of the ordinary, even though shivers had been running down his spine.

“I liked you in that tie, you know.” Thranduil said with a slight tilt of his head to the side.

“Sure, so much you didn't even notice I had taken it off, until now.” Bard grinned. “I always hated wearing ties anyway.” He owned only three, after all, that said a lot about how he felt about those things.

The entrée already arrived, stopping them in their conversation. The waiter set the plates in front of them, wishing them a “bon appétit” after a quick curious look at Bard's burns, and he left. Bard felt relief rushing through his body. He wished he could just forget about the scars, but each look reminded him of their presence. But okay, this was a good first. He wasn't feeling bad. Maybe he really was ready to accept they were a part of him, and nothing more than a reminder to his kids of "how strong he had been for them". _Aye, nothing more._ Good, that was good.

The food looked much more appealing than the stuff he served in his restaurant, but well, Bard wasn't exactly into presentation. It was so beautiful Bard felt bad at the idea of even touching it.

“Gods, can I really eat this?” Bard exclaimed, gesturing at his plate. Come on, he was talking about _croquettes_! “This is not food, it's art!”

Thranduil, who was inspecting his bowl of soup, looked up to smile at Bard, and chuckled softly. “True. You could call this art. But I assure you Bard, you do want to eat it.”

To this, Bard shrugged and managed to pick at the shrimp croquette, unable to stop himself from analyzing the dish. Damn, that breading was perfect, and let's not talk about the fodder. Bard's stomach growled at the sight, and he took a careful bite. Gods, that tasted marvelous. He doubted he would ever be able to make some and obtain the same result. But maybe that was because he was too humble about his cooking skills, as Thranduil liked to remind him.

Speaking of Thranduil, Bard glanced at him: he was apparently enjoying his soup, stopping from time to time for quick looks at Bard, making them both smile like idiots. If Bard knew exactly what was happening there, Thranduil definitely knew exactly how Bard was feeling, from the looks they exchanged to how Bard's behaviour was more and more open. For he finally felt safe to try acting upon his feelings. Feelings he was now accepting, as he had tried to ignore them for weeks. Tonight, he didn't hide the fondness in his eyes, the little shy smiles. He even dared to slightly brush Thranduil's leg with his own. No wonder Thranduil felt a bit taken aback as he realized what was happening tonight.

“Do you like it?” Thranduil asked, some kind of uncertainty tainting his deep, gorgeous voice.

“Well, it's too good for me. My food sucks compared to this.” Bard said, before taking another bite and closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the incredible taste on his tongue. “What am I even doing here?”

“Your food is the best, don't you dare think otherwise. You should taste it more often.” Thranduil finished the last spoons of his soup, and leaned a bit more comfortably against the back of his chair. “And what you're doing here is, for once, having a bit of time for yourself.”

“Well, I do taste it, most Mondays.” Bard stated, ignoring how Thranduil was implying he worked too much.

“And?” Thranduil insisted, raising an expectant eyebrow clearly telling Bard not to try being humble, _again_.

“Uh...” Bard hesitated as he finished the first croquette, taking his time to savour it, before starting the second and last one, regretting there wasn't more. “Well, it's not that bad, but still. This tastes way too good to be compared to my food.”

Thranduil rolled his eyes at him, smiling nonetheless. He had quickly learned it was practically impossible to make Bard say nice things about himself, at least not without a reminder he was not _that_ talented. It was one of the reasons people liked him. The cook went back to his plate, but then, he caught Thranduil's gaze going from the base of Bard's neck to his gloves, as if he was debating something. It is only when the blond man took a deep breath that Bard realized what he was thinking, and held his own.

Slowly, Thranduil _took off his gloves_ and put them aside, closing his eyes for a second as an unwelcome gasp rose from the table next to theirs, followed by a "shit, I'm so stupid" and a "yes, you are" which relaxed Thranduil, as his shoulders progressively lost their tension. He breathed again deeply and then looked up to meet Bard's eyes.

“It's a bit hot in here, isn't it?” Thranduil grinned, resting one of his hands on his knee and the other clenching on the table, betraying how exposing himself this way was not as easy as he let it seem.

_“See, I told ya.”_

Bard didn't even pay attention to the crystal swan, oh no, he was too busy offering Thranduil the biggest smile he was capable of. Because that was a huge step coming from Thranduil. Yes, he was doing it for himself, but also for Bard, and the cook knew how this was important, how much it meant. Right now, he was _so proud_ , of both of them. In a reassuring way, Bard reached to hold Thranduil's free hand. The blonde man quivered at the unfamiliar soft touch of Bard's skin on his burns, but he didn't withdraw his hand, as Bard stroke it gently with his thumb, their heart beating fast against their chest.

Bard's smile was filled with promises, and spoke a thousand words. Slowly, they were getting there. Because damn, they had _a lot_ to catch up on.

“Erm, sir? Excuse me?” They snapped back to reality as they realized the waiter was standing next to them, plates in hands, trying not to smile too awkwardly. “Your meals, sir.”

Their meals? But there starters had not even been... oh. Someone had come to gather their plate and bowl, and they hadn't even noticed. If the grins from a few of the other customers around their table were anything to go by, they were quite distracted. Some looked disgusted, but Bard made his best to ignore them. _Morons._

“Yes, thank you.” Thranduil said, getting gently away of Bard's grip and making place for the meal. Before Bard's gaze fell on the salmon being put in front of him, he met Elrond's, who gave him a... wink? Was that a wink? Oh damn. Unable to prevent himself from blushing, he focused his attention on Thranduil and their dinner, which was much more interesting and also making him feel much less like a source of entertainment. Why didn't they all watch _Love Actually_ if they were so keen of romantic stuff? Bard guessed it was funnier when a friend was involved. Aye, obviously. He still hoped they could have some privacy here, though.

Thranduil seemed to notice Bard's awkwardness, because he waved at Elrond, clearly asking him to come to them. Which he did, after a quick amused look at his daughter.

“What can I do for you, Thranduil?”

“My dear friend and I would really appreciate if you could just stop... _that._ ” Thranduil asked politely, gesturing at Elrond's knowing smile.

“Hi.” Bard said with a slight nod of his head, staring at the owner of Rivendell right in the eyes.

Elrond blinked, as if he was missing the point, but Thranduil's expression of utter annoyance didn't take long to make him change his mind. “Oh, right, _that_.” He clasped his hands in front of him and offered them disappointed eyes, as if he had wished he could keep going for the whole evening, until they fell on Thranduil's bare hands and lost all expression. To this, he turned to Bard, and the smile got _different_. There was a fondness in it, obviously not the same he shared with Thranduil, but a fondness saying "thank you", and growing stronger as Elrond noticed Bard's own burns under his shirt. Bard, on the other hand, didn't know how to feel except... quite awkward.

Elrond offered a hand, and Bard shook it. “Nice to meet you,” he said, before turning to both of them.

“I hope you'll enjoy your meal, gentlemen.” Then, he left as if nothing had happened, leaving the two men to their dinner. Bard was the first to start, after he had whispered a small thank you, no less sincere. The main course was as delicious as the starter, tasty and perfectly seared. Thranduil was slower at eating his lasagne, maybe because it looked much hotter than Bard's fish. Also maybe Bard was not really used to such prestigious meals, and couldn't manage to eat as slowly as everyone else, even though he really tried to. But he savoured every bite of it anyway. And finished as Thranduil was only half-done. So, he sat straighter, put his elbows on the table and put his head between his hands, staring at Thranduil with a constant grin.

Thranduil looked up to him, raising an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“You really like lasagnes, don't you?”

Thranduil chuckled lightly, then laid Bard with an impish gaze. “Well, I do. But I wanted to decide if yours is better or not.”

“Oh, really?”

“Mm-mmh.” Thranduil took another bite, squinting teasingly at Bard.

“Verdict?” Bard inquired, tilting his head slightly to the side.

Thranduil took on a thinking face and faked analysing the bit of lasagne on his fork, smirking. He then ate it, chewing slowly, as if he was some kind of food critic -and honestly he had the look for it. In that moment, Bard had nothing else to do than to stare at him. Pay attention to how his cheeks were perfectly shaped, how his dark thick eyebrows contrasted with his silvery hair without looking odd, how beautiful was the icy blue of his eyes. Oh yes, Thranduil was beautiful, in every single way. And his voice, he had such a gorgeous voice, even when he cleared his thr... _oh_.

“I was saying: I don't think I'll ever taste any lasagne better than yours.” Thranduil repeated, a spark of amusement in his gaze, but also a softness Bard welcomed with an awkward smile.

“Well, thanks then.” Bard grinned, leaning against the back of his chair and hoping he wasn't blushing too much. For being caught in such a deep state of staring, deep enough to prevent him from noticing _again_ that their plates were gone, or for the compliment, whatever. But to his surprise, Bard didn't hesitate to add something he would never have dared a few weeks before, for it could imply many things. “I'll make sure to cook you a lot of these, in the future.”

Thranduil laughed, in the pure way Bard had promised himself he would make sure to hear again, for it was one of the most beautiful sound he ever had the pleasure to hear. “I would lie if I told you I wasn't hoping you would.”

If there hadn't been a table between them and if they had been in a bit more private place, Bard was sure he would have kissed Thranduil. He definitely would have. Because right now, he _really_ wanted to. It was such a relief to finally accept his feelings, to stop pretending there had been nothing for all those weeks in Thranduil's company, even if it was all still a bit hard to believe. So instead, he took one of Thranduil's hands in both of his own, but with great tenderness, inspecting it, letting Thranduil getting used to a touch he probably hadn't felt in years, at least coming from someone else than himself.

“I had forgotten about them, you know. Tonight. Despite seeing them all the time.” Thranduil whispered, his blue gaze wavering between his burns and Bard's face of genuine softness. “I have never forgotten about them before.”

“Aye, I get what you mean.” Bard replied, his kind gaze now fully fixed on Thranduil. “It feels odd, isn't it? I always thought exposing myself would always feel the same, that I would only see people's looks and be unable to get them out of my mind, but...”

“But in the end you just need someone to make you see things differently.”

Bard's eyes got lost in Thranduil's for a second, until he gave away a small smile. “Aye.”

He didn't need much more to understand Thranduil had followed the same train of thoughts as he had. How they could take strength from each other. How they just made each other feel comfortable about what had troubled them for years, because they shared the same thing. To Bard's eyes, that was beautiful. And that had only strengthened his feelings. Which, to be honest, he didn't know was a good or a bad thing, but he would go for the good, because he hadn't feel so confident about himself and happy with someone in a very long time.

“Will you have a dessert? The tiramisu is to die for.” Thranduil asked absently, sending looks to the door and not taking away his hands, a grin playing on his lips.

“Well, I...”

 _“In case you didn't get it, he wants to leave,”_ said the crystal swan abruptly, flapping its wings to make sure Bard was paying attention to it.

Bard resisted the urge to snap back something like " _yes I had noticed, now will you please shut up, can't I have a bit of privacy here gods I can't believe it_ " and kept his gaze on Thranduil.

“I might have eaten a bit too much, actually.” The truth was that Bard would have loved to taste one of Rivendell's desserts, but he wanted something else even more.

To this, Thranduil's smile grew wider and, unfortunately having to take his hands away from Bard's, he called for the bill with a wave, getting at the same time some people's attention and in consequence, was given some unpleasant looks that made Bard's fists clench. Most people were so intrusive, rude and tactless. At least they got the message when he sent them a disapproving gaze, trying not to be too aggressive, but if people like them could just abstain from staring, it would have saved them a lot of stress.

Thranduil had stiffened slightly. It would take some time, obviously. But they would get through it. As Thranduil paid and then gestured to leave, Bard's heart started bumping heavily against his chest as if it was going to explode, the crystal swan's song about how kisses never killed anyone not helping in calming it down. He knew that. He didn't need to be reminded, for he knew exactly what he wanted to do.

As they walked through the room, passing by the other customers, some busy, some staring at him, his outfits and his visible burns, or even gasping at Thranduil's for the most reactive of them, Bard and Thranduil just didn't notice, for they only saw each other. From time to time, Thranduil turned to give a look at Bard, his smile not fading, and the cook sent it back, his heart beats getting stronger and stronger.

As soon as they got into the fresh air of the night, the stars and the moon shining brightly upon them, Bard didn't wait: when Thranduil turned to face him, a spark in his bewitching icy blue eyes, Bard rose on his feet, gently took Thranduil's face between his hands, closed his eyes and pressed his lips softly against Thranduil's, tasting the delicate flavor of wine, in a hesitant, tentative way. For a second he feared he had done wrong, because Thranduil had slightly stiffened once again, until he felt a hand going through his hair, the other on the back of his neck. Until he felt Thranduil kissing him back, equally tender. A shiver ran down his back, and they couldn't help but smile as they kissed, stopping a moment to look into each other's eyes, only to start again, savouring the moment both of them had been waiting for for so long. They didn't need any words. They just knew. When Bard finally pulled away, a soft laugh escaped Thranduil's throat, making Bard frown.

“What is it?” Bard asked suspiciously, raising an eyebrow. Did he have something in his hair? Was he thinking about his tie again? Did he kiss that bad? It had been a while, after all. Maybe he was a bit rusty.

“Nothing. It's just... about time!” Thranduil exclaimed as he put his head on Bard's shoulder, chuckling against his neck. “I was starting to think nothing would ever happen.”

To this, Bard grinned. Gods, he felt so stupid -good, incredibly good, but also very stupid. Sigrid had been more than right: even Thranduil was not been able to take Bard's blindness anymore. Which was probably why, after the events of Saturday, he had decided not to wait any longer and invite him to dinner.

“Thranduil?” Bard said tentatively as he stroke the blonde man's hair. “May I ask you something?”

“Yes?” Thranduil answered, stealing another quick kiss from his lips.

Bard swung on his feet, letting his hands slowly run down the blonde man's arms to finally take hold of Thranduil's. “Since when do you... you know...?”

Thranduil smiled, kissing the corner of Bard's mouth. Now they had come to this, it seemed it would be difficult to get Thranduil to stop. Not that Bard was going to complain. “Mmh, it had to be the time you tripped over Legolas' bag and our meals ended up all over me.”

Oh gods, that had happened a long time ago. At least two months, not long before Thranduil had offered him his help. “I thought you hated me for that.”

“I did, for a second. But you were so embarrassed.”

“I guess clumsiness has its good sides then.”

“Definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was about time, wasn't it?
> 
> I put my heart and soul in that chapter, I hope you liked it! :D  
> (I really really hope you did.)  
> (I mean you've been waiting for this for so long, I hope I didn't disappoint you!)
> 
> As always thank you to my Beta SomewhatByronically, but also to you all for your precious feedback! Every comment makes my day brighter!
> 
> Unfortunately chapter 11 will take a while. I started writing it but with my exams I won't be able to properly write until mid-June. Maybe I'll post another ficlet if I have time until then, because I have a new idea, but that's all. I'm sorry :c


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I'm so sorry for the two months of waiting. But I had said there would be no new chapter until my exams were over and well, school finished two-three weeks ago and I actually finished the chapter... two weeks ago. So I'm not _that_ late. I'm sorry though.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter! 
> 
> Thank you to SomewhatByronically for editing, as always <3 Go check out her works by the way, her fic 'Iris' is perf'.

As Bard prepared his bag, he couldn’t help but recall the events of the past days. It had been a week since he and Thranduil had finally confessed their reciprocated feelings that evening in front of Rivendell, under the stars, bodies close and lips discovering each other's for the first time. They had left separate ways, Bard’s heart aching they weren't able to spend more time together. Since then, he had felt on a little cloud and the morning after, he had not been able to hide what had happened from his children longer than exactly thirty-two minutes.

They hadn't been able to see each other outside Bard's restaurant since then, but they had called every day, something that reminded Bard of his teenage years and his first girlfriends and boyfriends when he practically lived near the house's phone. That thought made him smile as he put some biscuits in the cookie jar for the kids while they would be gone. It had been his idea to go on this little trip. The weather was still a bit cold, but with some good clothes and warmth bags for the night they would be fine. It was a bit unusual for a first time on their own since they were finally _together_ , but Bard sincerely thought it could be romantic, maybe even the most romantic thing they could do at this time of the year.

Bard's only regret was that the animals hadn't stopped talking. He had thought confessing his feelings for Thranduil would make them stop for a while, but he had never been more wrong. Every day they had something to say, this time about how the past wasn't always best left untouched.

As usual, Bard had decided to ignore them until it felt appropriate.

“Is everything ready?” Bard asked with enthusiasm as he crossed the room to the kitchen, a backpack on his back and his arm holding his old brown coat.

“I think so!” Thranduil's voice came from the hallway, as Bard opened the fridge's door and put two bottles of fresh water along with a tupperware of fruit salad in the cooler box.

“Let's go then.” Bard announced, going back to the living room to drop a kiss on each of the children's cheeks and to pat Smaug's head. The latter's eyes not leaving Thranduil who stood in the doorframe of the room, smirking at the red beast. The way he was dressed was quite unusual: he wore boots, jeans and a long sleeve shirt under a gorgeous, warm jumper, instead of the familiar suit or simple shirt and classy jeans.

“Have fun, you two!” Sigrid said with a grin. Bain and Tilda wished them the same, although with different kinds of smiles. If Bain's was meaningful, Tilda's was as innocent and pure as a little puppy. The pair had yet to kiss in front of Bard's youngest, so she hadn't understood her da and Thranduil were more than the “world's best friends” as she liked to call them, even though she had been told a few times they were “together”.

“Be careful.” Bard said with a meaningful look. “No junk food. No parties. And most importantly: no spoiling Smaug.”

The kids rolled their eyes at him while Smaug stared at him almost angrily as if he had perfectly understood what had just been said.

“Legolas should arrive in two hours.” Thranduil told them, receiving excited cries from Tilda and Bain in answer, as well as a a kind grin from Sigrid.

“They'll be fine.” He whispered into Bard's ear, and the dark haired man nodded.

Bard smiled and took Thranduil’s hand in his, guiding him down the hallway to the stairs, only letting go to close the door behind them. They shared a grin as the children’s chuckles drifted in their wake through the wooden barrier. Noticing he was at eye level with Bard for once thanks to the steps, Thranduil stole a quick, soft kiss from his _boyfriend_ ’s lips before he turned to lead the way to the restaurant floor.

The second they opened the front door, they came face to face with Thorin Oakenshield and their dopey smiles vanished. Thorin has the gall to look offended, as if they had meant to interrupt him with his fingers suspended an inch from the doorbell. Next to him stood Bilbo Baggins, their neighbour, also the owner of the best bakery around, a smaller man with curly hair who waved a shy hand at the couple before elbowing Thorin in the side.

“Are those... muffins?” Thranduil stuttered, so taken aback he didn't even get the time to actually get angry at Thorin for blocking his way to a romantic escapade with Bard.

Bard's eyes fell on the open box filled with at least a dozen muffins of all kinds, from chocolate to vanilla to blueberry. Well... that was... unexpected.

“For you.” Thorin muttered as he extended the pastries to Thranduil, who stared at the both of them before giving Bard a quick "what the hell" look. He was apparently as surprised as the cook was, and made no move to take hold of the present, or whatever it was. Instead, he crossed his arms against his chest and his icy-blue eyes turned cold.

“What do you want, Oakenshield?” Thranduil's voice was calm, but Bard could feel how unreceptive to the conversation Thranduil was going to be. He even stared unappreciatively at Bard as the cook took the box with an awkward grin.

Before Bard could clear his throat in order to tell Thranduil that this was not the time, nor a good idea, to getting angry or unpleasant , Bilbo offered an apologetic smile and gave the owner of The Arkenstone another dig of the elbow in his ribs. Thorin groaned in answer, crossing his own arms against his chest comedically reflecting Thranduil's position.

“Thorin...” Bilbo put a hand on Thorin's arm with a tender look which made Bard's eyes slightly widen in realization. _Oh._

Thorin took the smaller man's hand in his own, letting go of his defensive position and sighed before he finally looked up to meet Thranduil's severe gaze. “Listen, I'm sorry.”

To this, Thranduil arched a brow in surprise, and it would have been a lie to say Bard didn't look the same. Was _Thorin Oakenshield_ actually _apologizing_ to _Thranduil_? They exchanged a confused look, just before they turned and said in unison:

“You're _what_?”

Thorin rolled his eyes at them. “I'm sorry, for the other day.” He paused, tried a slightly forced grin. “I've been an idiot, so I apologize.”

“You bet you've been,” was Thranduil's response, harsh though somehow less cold than he had been a few seconds ago. There was no doubt he enjoyed seeing Thorin admitting he had made a mistake. It was Bard's turn to roll his eyes as he put his hand on the blond's shoulder. He then proceded to take a step forward in order to be able to turn and look at Thranduil without the other men seeing his face. It more than clearly said: "just accept the apology and _let's go_." The blond stared at him for a few seconds before he finally let out a sigh and looked back at Thorin, who was surprisingly patient, but Bard was ready to bet it was because of Bilbo's presence beside him.

“Apology accepted.” He said, taking the muffins from Bard's hands almost in a possessive way, making the cook retain a chuckle. “Now, excuse us...”

To that, he walked between the couple and headed straight to the car after a quick, genuinely polite, nod to Bilbo and just a glance to Thorin which, honestly, was more than they could have hoped for. Bard grinned awkwardly, running a hand through his hair before resting it on the back of his neck for a second.

“Aye, sorry.” Bard said. “The muffins look delicious, thank you.”

“It's no problem. We're sorry about what happened, and hope it didn't bring you both too much hurt.” Bilbo answered, smiling brightly. He then gave Thorin some serious look, making sure his boyfriend was agreeing with what he was saying. “We're glad to see all seems to be fine between you two.”

“Well actually, it helped, so thank you, I guess!” The cook said and without another word, he shook both men's hands and went to his car, trying not to laugh at the confused expressions he had caught an eyeful of.

As he sat on the driver's seat, Thranduil was inspecting one of the muffins, a suspicious look on his face. He even proceeded to cut it in half, probably checking if there wasn't _something_ inside. Wouldn't it have been amusing, Bard would have sighed with all the exasperation in the world, but if he had to be honest, he was quite enjoying this.

“I'm pretty sure it's not poisoned you know.” Bard said as he started the car, putting on his seatbelt.

“It's Oakenshield we're talking about.”

“Yes, and Bilbo.” Bard retorted. “Bilbo wouldn't hurt a fly.”

“How could I know, I’ve never met him before.” Thranduil raised an eyebrow at his boyfriend, who shrugged.

“Well, I'm telling you.” Bard said in the most reassuring way possible, though he wasn't able to hide his amusement. He waved at the two men going back into Thorin's restaurant as he drove away. His eyes then fell on Thranduil, who was now somehow elegantly smelling the vanilla muffin, but this time Bard didn't smile.

“Thran, put your seatbelt on please.”

 

The trip was quiet at first as they listened to calm songs, Thranduil's hand resting on Bard's knee. The blond looked in awe as he admired the countryside's landscapes, as if he had never seen them before. Bard kept his eyes on the road, particularly concentrated despite his humming, and if Thranduil noticed how unperturbable he was, he said nothing.

After two hours, Bard had grown more comfortable, and they started talking. Small talk and kind words, about their lives, their children and what they were going to do this weekend. Thranduil insisted on staring at the stars, while Bard wanted to catch crabs and then put them back into the water. They wanted to sleep until whatever time they wished to wake up at, have a good breakfast and then just read and talk, feet buried in the sand. It all sounded like a great, simple plan. It made them feel somewhat more alive than they had been for the past few years.

They didn't reach their destination until the sky started to darken, and when they did, Thranduil's small smile—which had not left his lips since their departure—grew wider as his eyes fell on the coast, its beach and the sea. It was a wild area, dunes all around. There were a few cars parked along the road, and people could be seen walking in the sand, close to the salty water.

Bard handed one of their bags to Thranduil and took hold of the other as well as the cooler, before he gestured to the blond to follow him. He lead him through the dunes for a while, trying to remember the way to the special spot he planned to bring Thranduil to. It had been a while since the last time he had come here, and it always changed a little from visit to visit.

When he finally spotted the deeper pit between the sand hills, away from the path and protected from the wind, Bard smiled widely as he turned to the blond with an excited wave of his hands, pointing to the place. The dark haired man couldn't help but melt at the sight of such a mesmerized Thranduil. Apparently, the blond hadn't come much often to the beach in his life: he was definitely more of a woodland spirit rather than some merman.

“There.” Bard announced almost proudly. “Best spot for camping.”

They went down the dune, dopey smiles returning on their faces, and didn't wait to start unpacking what little they had taken with them and setting up the tent which, to be honest, was perfect: three to four people could sleep in it, so they had more than enough space.

“I used to come around here with my wife and the kids.” Bard said, bright eyes locked on Thranduil's. “I thought you might enjoy it too.”

“It's lovely.” Thranduil smiled genuinely as he sat on the towel they had laid on the sand in front of their tent. “But are we sure we can stay here?”

Bard shrugged and gave a reassuring smile. “Well, there's never anyone and of all the times I brought the kids here, we never had any problems. It's fine, really.” To that he took place next to the blond and put a kiss on his cheek and an arm around his shoulders. Bard was pretty sure that if Thranduil had been a cat, he would be purring right now, if the way he leaned closer and put his head to rest on the dark haired man's shoulder was anything to go by. He let out a content sigh, making Bard smile wider.

He still had some difficulty to realize this was all real. He was actually dating Thranduil when not two weeks before he had been convinced Thranduil was not interested in him. Yet, every day his boyfriend proved him wrong with light kisses and shy touches under the curious gazes of The Esgaroth's customers. They had laughed about how blind Bard had been and how Thranduil was not near obvious enough, even though Sigrid and Bain had peeked into the conversation to say the blond had been quite obvious and their father definitely oblivious.

Yet here they were, about to spend two nights in the dunes together, all by themselves, and they had never felt more comfortable with each other than ever before, as if finally letting go of their worries and letting their feelings show had broken the last walls between them. They felt in peace, sitting there on the sand. They would listen to the waves and the seagulls' cries, let the crickets wake them up in the morning.

It was Bard who broke the silence after a long few minutes of just staring at the sky, enjoying the quiet atmosphere. “It's a bit warmer than we had expected, isn't it?”

“Yes. The last days of winter.” Thranduil said, taking Bard's hand in his. “Spring's early this year.”

The cook nodded, letting a small smile find its way on his lips. He kissed his boyfriend's forehead, patted his shoulder before he gently pulled him away and got up.

“Shall we have a walk?” He asked, extending a hand to the blond. “The sunset is particularly beautiful around here.”

Thranduil looked up to him, smiled and gladly took hold of the hand that was offered to him.

 

They spent two hours walking on the beach, stopping from time to time to bury their feet in the sand and look upon the sun slowly going down the horizon. They held hands, kissed and felt like teenagers again. Yet the burden of their pasts reminded them they were not. Somehow, it made it all even more sweet, even more dream-like. It made them live those moments with more passion. They craved the memories they were building here in the wood of their lightened hearts.

They talked, just like they were used to, admiring the stars progressively appearing in the evening sky as the sun gave way to the moon. They talked of the children, of the past and of the future. What they loved and what they despised. They laughed thinking about Smaug and anecdotes of their respective lives, eager to have more of those to tell in the future, of the time they would share together.

It was all calm and peaceful. It felt right, as if things were as they always should have been.

They let their steps lead them back to the tent, suddenly silent as if they had drained all their ability to talk. As Bard set everything up to prepare dinner—mock mozzarella tomatoes with fresh bread he had bought at Bilbo's place in the morning (which he had asked to be made with special instructions so that Thranduil could eat it)—the former lawyer set next to him and just watched, eyes curious. It was something the cook enjoyed a lot; feeling that the special someone Thranduil was to him was genuinely interested in his work.

Like this the next minutes went: Bard started by cutting the mozzarella in thin slices, and Thranduil pushed them on a plate. Then Bard stopped to start a little fire as the air was getting colder, and Thranduil made sure they had enough little wood. Finally Bard sliced the tomatoes, and that was only then that they spoke again.

“Bard, there's something I should tell you.”

The dark haired man turned to meet his boyfriend's gaze, and couldn't help a shiver from running down his spine. After all, the blond seemed as composed, even happy, as he had been all afternoon, despite the hint of hesitation in his expression. _What was it?_

“I thought it would be better to tell you before you, you know, try anything.”

The cook's brows furrowed. What could this be about? Did Thranduil think he could try to do something wrong? He was about to open his mouth and ask his questions but Thranduil stopped him by putting his fingers on the cook's lips, shaking his head with a small grin.

“Let's just say that sex is not my thing.” The blond then announced plainly, eyes locked with Bard's.

“Oh,” was all Bard found to say in the moment. He stared at the blond man, confused at first; it wasn't one of the subjects he had expected to talk about. Particularly that suddenly. It had practically came out of nowhere.

If he had to be honest though, sex had been so out of his life for the past eight years that the thought had barely crossed his mind since then. Not until recently, actually. And still, he hadn't felt particularly... interested? He had always thought he was the heavily romantic kind, thinking of (reciprocated) feelings way before everything else, but truth was that he had never felt sexually attracted to anyone until there was something special. Which hadn't happened since his wife... and more recently until Thranduil.

“Okay.” Bard shrugged, smiling at Thranduil who stared at him expectantly, and went back to slicing the tomatoes.

“Okay?”

“Aye.” He raised an eyebrow at the blond. “I haven't had sex in years. I'm perfectly able to live without it. Besides, I'm not dating you for wild physical activities in the first place.”

That got him a warm smile, the kind he loved most to see lighting up his boyfriend's face.

“Though if you told me massages were not your thing, then it would be more complicated.” He added, still concentrated on his work; that dinner had to be perfect, however simple it was.

“Oh, because you're the 'I like massages' kind?” Thranduil got closer to him, but instead of settling himself by the cook's side, he stopped behind him.

“I am. Always loved it.” Bard said, pretending to ignore the hands which were now on his shoulders. “Actually, I'm also very, very good at foot massages.”

“Foot massages?” The blond asked as he started rubbing slow, deep circles with his thumbs upon Bard's skin.

“The _best_.”

Bard could practically hear Thranduil smile.

“Well, I hope I won't be disappointed later tonight then.”

To that the brunet turned his head as much as he could, in order to meet the blond's icy blue gaze. “Oh, because I'm on massage duty?”

“Yes you are.” Thranduil smirked, continuing his work which made Bard shiver, relaxing him more than he had been in a long time. “What did you think, that you could get me to massage you without a price?”

“I didn't ask you to massage me.” Bard stated, directing his attention to the tomatoes. “Not that I'll complain though, you're good at it.”

“Does that mean you'll take care of my feet tonight then?”

Bard didn't reply immediately; he finished preparing dinner and then proceeded to fill the plates. Only then did he turn (reluctantly, for by doing so, his shoulders left Thranduil's touch) and answered, as he extended bread and plate to his boyfriend.

“Maybe.” He said with a grin, then tapped the ground beside him. “Come here.”

Thranduil did as he was told and went to sit next to Bard, pressing himself against the cook's side; if the nights were warmer than they should be at this time of the year, they certainly didn't feel as summer's. And well, they would certainly not complain about finding 'excuses' to stay close.

“That's delicious.” The blond said after a moment. “How on Earth do you manage to make something as simple as tomatoes and cheese taste so good?”

Bard shrugged. “Experience, I suppose.”

And there was silence again. But it wasn't an awkward quietness, no. It was quiet companionship, the one they were used to and loved, for in those moments they didn't need to talk to feel like they were sharing something. It was enough, it had always been. The fire added just what was needed of the warmth their bodies couldn't procure each other. The night was still, with the moon and the stars shining upon them. It felt as right as the sun rising and setting everyday.

Once their plates were empty, they put them aside and let their gazes flicker between the stars and the fire warming up their feet, listening to its crackling, the waves breaking on the beach, the howling of the wind and each other's steady breaths.

“Do they still scare you?” Thranduil asked then, his fingers playing with the brunet's curls and his eyes fixed on the small fire.

“Who?”

“The flames.”

Bard nodded slowly. “Always.” His thumb gently stroke the skin of the hand he was holding. “But I keep interacting with them anyway.”

“Why?”

“Because I like to remind myself it does not always destroy.” He said, gaze not leaving the flames. “It can bring comfort too. In the light of a candle, or the warmth of a fire on the beach.”

“That's true. But I still don't really like it.” Thranduil conceded with a sigh, linking his ruined fingers with the cook's. “I feel safe with you though.”

“I guess it's my firefighter vibe.”

Thranduil chuckled. “I guess, yes.”

To that Bard went to kiss his cheek, but the blond turned at the last second and their lips met instead. Thranduil smiled through the kiss—calm and tender in harmony with the quiet of night—a hand now resting at the back of Bard's head, stroking his hair softly, the other getting their bodies even closer. Bard kissed him back, turning in order to cup his boyfriend's face between his rougher hands that old so much more gentleness than they looked.

They broke apart to look into each other's eyes before their gazes went up to meet the stars once again.

“What about that foot massage then?”

Bard's laugh filled the air, joined soon enough by the crystal-like melody of Thranduil's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eheh, cuties.  
> And look, I fixed the Thorin situation. I just couldn't keep him as a bad guy.
> 
> Bad news though: it's almost the end! One more chapter, an epilogue or both in one, and this story will be over. I hope you'll stick with me till the end!
> 
> As always feedback is much appreciated. :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end, my friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry for the wait. I had a massive writer's block on this chapter, and I guess I didn't want this story to end. But here it is, finally!

If there was one thing Bard would always remember about their weekend at the coast, it had to be that very first time that he woke up curled up against Thranduil's warm body. Bard could feel his hand stroking his hair absently, hear his steady breath, and feel the pulsation of his heart against his skin. Bard had been awake for at least an hour now, but he hadn't found the will to move and let Thranduil know.

The night had been cold but it had not reached them; they had had each other's warmth to bathe in.

Also some nice, comfy blankets and way too many pillows, that was true.

Bard loved feeling Thranduil's fingers play with his curls and linger on his back, then reach as far as he could down the length of his arms, gently following the path of the burns on Bard’s shoulder first, then down his freckles and stopping on each of his moles; as if he was learning every part of Bard's skin.

He had done the same last night, before they had fallen asleep in a warm embrace. He had massaged Thranduil's feet just as he had been asked, then his back simply because he had wanted to. They hadn't said a word, just enjoying the moment.

It had been perfect.

Yet, as much as Bard appreciated his current situation, they couldn't stay like this forever; he had to at least _try_ to get up, to do something.

Bard stretched his arms as he looked up lazily, meeting Thranduil's eyes. He smiled, and Bard smiled back.

“Slept well?”

“Better than expected.” Thranduil shrugged, his fingers not leaving Bard's hair.

Bard just rolled his eyes then changed position so that his head could rest on Thranduil's chest. In turn, he traced Thranduil's burns, dropping soft kisses upon them; he knew very well his boyfriend was enjoying it more than he allowed himself to show, if his quiet sigh was anything to go by.

Honestly, Bard started to seriously consider staying like this all day—until Thranduil's stomach growled under his hand, his own following soon after. They sent each other a knowing glance as Bard patted Thranduil's belly in an amused way.

“Breakfast?” Thranduil offered, a small smile playing on his lips as he tried to reach the cooler box not far from them.

“Five more minutes,” Bard mumbled, and he could have sworn Thranduil rolled his eyes right before he let his head fall again against Thranduil's chest.

But five minutes later he was (regretfully) getting out of Thranduil's arms and sitting up so as to face him, opening the box and getting out the fruit salad as well as the muffins Thorin and Bilbo had offered them. He picked up forks in a plastic bag from his backpack and handed one to Thranduil.

They picked at the fruit right from the bowl, just exchanging looks as they were used to; they rarely talked much when they ate, no matter how simple the food. However, as soon as they were closed to finishing, one of them always ended up saying something.

“I didn't get my morning kiss,” Thranduil suddenly stated, not even looking up from the vanilla muffin he had started eating, but his smirk hadn't escaped Bard's attention.

“Oh yeah?” he teased back, putting his own blueberry one aside, and ridiculously slowly leant forward, stopping a few inches away from Thranduil's face.

Thranduil was very, very good at ignoring him.

“Mh-mmh.” Bard softly lifted Thranduil’s chin up with careful fingers and they stared into each other's amused eyes for a little moment. “Well, I'm wai—”

Bard kissed him then, and it was impossible for him not to smile all the way through it. He gently pushed Thranduil onto his back, knocking the fruit salad over as he did so (thank gods it was now empty), and making him drop what was left of the muffin.

Yet instead of continuing the kissing, as soon as their chests were touching Bard left one last kiss to Thranduil's nose and hid his face in the crook of his neck, letting out a little sigh of contentment as he snuggled against Thranduil's side again. Though, this time, he was actually more on top of him than anything else.

“You can't be serious.”

Bard could hear the smile in Thranduil's voice as clearly as if he was seeing it; it made his own wider.

“Oh but I am,” he said, but instead of a fake-annoyed sigh, he got his hand brought to Thranduil's lips and gently kissed.

“And Legolas says I'm the lazy one.”

“It's not being lazy when you're on a little vacation like this one.”

Thranduil didn't try to protest and just closed his arms around Bard, making their bodies as close as possible.

They stayed like that for another hour, Bard letting his fingers linger on Thranduil's skin, kissing his neck from time to time, just as Thranduil softly massaged his back; during those moments he forgot his worries, from the refurbishment of the restaurant to what the future held for his children. Bard knew it was good for Thranduil too; that this little trip eased his mind and allowed him to breathe.

They deserved it, and Bard would make sure it kept being perfect until their departure the next morning.

So far, it was even better than that.

When the time came to go, after another good day of walking down the beach hand-in-hand, reading and cooking with what little they had, and another night snuggled against each other, it was with their fingers laced and humming to soft songs on the radio. Bard was finding it difficult not to turn to Thranduil and let their eyes meet. He wanted to drown in them, but now was not the time; he would have plenty of it once they'd be home.

He had not told Thranduil yet, but somehow Bard knew he had understood. He had understood Bard had been in a car accident, just like Bard had known Thranduil had been in a fire. It wasn't that difficult to get. Scars, fears, and precautions could tell one's story. Both of them had been observant enough and Bard guessed it wasn't a conversation they would need to have, in the end; sometimes there was no need to bring old wounds back to life.

Thranduil fell asleep after a while, and Bard hummed to himself until he parked in front of his huge house. They knew the kids had moved there with Legolas for the weekend, and had agreed Bard would spend the night there before going back to his apartment with the children.

“Love,” Bard called quietly as he bent down to kiss his lover's forehead. “Wake up.”

Thranduil made a tiny little noise and Bard rolled his eyes fondly.

“Thran, I know you're awake.”

There was a short silence before he was answered.

“How could you know?” Thranduil mumbled, but didn't move.

Bard couldn't help but roll his eyes again, before he got out of the car and went to open the door.

“Is this what it is about?” Bard wondered aloud. “You're too lazy to walk to your own door?”

Thranduil seemed to think about his answer for a moment, before he offered Bard one of his best smirks.

“Yes.”

Bard tried very hard to look annoyed, but he couldn't help his smile as he lifted Thranduil from his seat without so much as a warning, getting a yelp of surprise out of him, shut the door with his foot and carried Thranduil to the house’s door, drinking in his awed expression.

“I can't believe you're making me do this,” Bard sighed, a little out of breath (Thranduil wasn't exactly light). “Don't count on me to help you get our stuff out of the car tomorrow.”

Thranduil just nodded, a smug smile plastered on his lips, as Bard let go of his legs once they reached the door as to let him stand up. Thranduil immediately kissed him, slow and gentle, before he opened the door and took Bard's hand in his.

“You're perfect, you know that?” Thranduil breathed.

“Look who's talking.”

Bard was the one to initiate the kiss this time, and though the fact that they were being slightly cheesy crossed his mind, he didn't care at all. He had to admit, though, that he wouldn't have imagined Thranduil to act like this when they had first met. It was a part of him that had taken time to show itself, and it made Bard love him even more.

“Are you hungry?” Bard asked as they broke apart to look in each other's eyes. “I'm starving.”

“Bard, it's one in the morning.”

Bard sighed; it was true he couldn't cook anything that would stop his hunger without waking up the kids, and he would surely talk with Thranduil, who had the bad habit of forgetting to lower his voice. He would have to wait until morning.

On second thought, he didn't mind that much. After all, it wasn't that far away, and sleep would come quickly.

“Bed, then? We can get a full breakfast tomorrow,” Thranduil offered a tad too loudly, before he kissed the corner of Bard’s mouth.

“Thran, sshhh.” Bard put his finger on Thranduil's mouth, sending him a meaningful look. “You don't want to wake Tilda now, trust me.”

Thranduil nodded, a light smirk on his lips, as he took Bard's hand away from his face by taking hold of his wrist. He lead the way upstairs, careful not to make too much noise as they passed by the children's doors.

When they got into Thranduil's room and got the light turned on, Bard couldn't help but raise an eyebrow and send his boyfriend an amused look. He had never been in Thranduil's room before, and it was just as he had imagined it.

There were full bookshelves on the right wall, a wardrobe against the left, a small desk, large windows, and a king-size bed, which looked way too comfortable with all its pillows.

“Four people could sleep in that bed,” Bard muttered to himself, even quieter as to not wake up next room's child.

Thranduil turned to him and sent him an interrogative look, stopping right in the middle of taking off his shoes. Bard just shrugged as if he had said nothing, and proceeded to change into his night sh—

“Can I borrow you a shirt?” he whispered and pointed to the wardrobe.

“Do you really need to ask?”

Once they were both in night clothes (well, not technically, but it was enough) and cuddling against each other under the sheets, Bard listened to the beating of Thranduil's heart as the blond's hand traced the scars of his collarbone lightly, as if he was too tired to do much more.

Yet after a few minutes, he shifted their position so that he could rest his head in the crook of Bard's neck, snuggled against his chest, and kissed his jaw. Bard could feel his breath on his skin, the warmth of his body against his.

He would never get tired of this.

“How was it then? The weekend,” he asked softly, though genuinely interested to know.

“Sometimes a little cold,” Thranduil confessed, but he could feel him smile against the skin of his neck. “But perfect.”

And indeed, it had been.

 

* * *

 

They woke up two months later the same way they had on the morning that had followed their weekend at the beach; tangled in the sheets, their bodies close. Now, though, their worries were not only forgotten, but also behind them: the refurbishment had been completed, and slowly, thanks to word of mouth, The Esgaroth was welcoming more and more customers. Or, at least enough of them to pay the bills; for even though Bard and the children practically lived at Thranduil's now, they couldn't give up on their good old apartment completely.

Sigrid wouldn't complain, though; she had told her father how she enjoyed trying to live on her own (since even Smaug had moved to Thranduil's and no, they still didn't get along). And if Bard had to be honest, she was dealing perfectly well. He was proud of her, just as he was proud of all their family. He already liked to call Thranduil and Legolas that, because it felt right on his mind and on his tongue.

Bard let out a happy sigh as he rolled on his side to look upon his sleeping lover's face. He traced the lines of his jaw with light, careful fingers, and brushed a stray of hair from his eyes, only to find them open and staring right at him when he looked down again.

“Good morning,” Bard whispered and smiled when Thranduil cupped his face and kissed him lazily.

“Good morning, love,” he answered in a quiet, tired voice.

Then Bard kissed Thranduil's forehead, followed by his cheek, before he rolled on his back again and straightened up to lean against the wall, his pillow making it comfortable.

“Do you know what day it is?” Bard asked casually, his eyes fixed on the door and trying not to smirk.

Thranduil looked up to him and frowned.

“No?” His tone was slightly worried, as if he feared he had forgotten something important.

“It's the day you promised you would cook for me all day.”

Thranduil sighed dramatically as he took a pillow and hid his face under it, making Bard chuckle; surely he had thought Bard had forgotten about it. Of course he hadn't, though. He had been looking forward to this, but didn't know if he should fear or be excited about Thranduil's cooking skills.

Bard was going to suggest they get up and prepare breakfast when the door suddenly opened on Tilda, who was holding a relatively (completely) done Smaug, before she ran to the bed, managed to climb onto it and dropped the cat on Thranduil's stomach.

“Legolas and Bain are cooking breakfast!” she beamed, ignoring how Thranduil had huffed and Bard succeeded at stopping Smaug from attacking his boyfriend's arm by catching the cat and holding him against his chest.

“Don't they know Thranduil was supposed to cook it?” Bard asked, trying his best not to laugh at the death glare his lover was sending to the cat in his arms; he didn't know if it was because Smaug had tried to hurt him or because he'd rather be in his place. Bard assumed it was a little bit of both.

“They said they're too young to die because of Ada's ‘horrendous cooking’,” she explained innocently, her smile bright as she bounced up and down on the bed.

Bard burst out laughing at that, Thranduil's death gaze now turned to him, not helping at all to calm his breathing.

“My cooking is not that bad,” he muttered. “At least not anymore.”

“Well, you had a good teacher.” Bard smiled, his voice still shaking from his laughter.

“Are you here to get us out of bed, Tilda?” Thranduil inquired in a soft tone, ignoring Bard's words, and the little girl nodded enthusiastically. “We'd better follow you then.”

She offered them her brightest smile before she sent a flying kiss to Thranduil, then Bard, and left the room, exclaiming 'Da and Ada are coming' to whoever might hear her; including her older sister, who had spent the night and certainly wished to sleep a little longer.

Bard let go of Smaug, who immediately followed Tilda, and took Thranduil's hand in his.

“She called you Ada,” he said, tenderness in his gaze.

Bard couldn't help his grin as he kissed Thranduil's hand. Thranduil just stared at him, until he slowly nodded, and Bard knew his little smile was worth more than he was letting see.

“I love you, you know?”

Bard's grin grew wider, flutters in his heart as he bent down to kiss his breath away.

“I know,” he breathed, all the love that he was feeling channeled in his voice. “And I love you, too.”

Thranduil kissed him in return, with more passion than ever.

 

* * *

 

It was on the day of their wedding that the animals talked for the last time. It was only a few months later that Bard understood what their purpose had been, since the beginning; Thranduil. It had all been about Thranduil. All they had said, all they had made him do, had lead him to meet, fall in love with, and marry that beautiful man he now called his husband.

It had all started with the animals telling him to do simple things, like going out and follow his heart by taking on the restaurant instead of letting it die. It hadn't been as if he had felt able to go back to his life as a firefighter, and certainly not with the kids to take care of on his own. It had been the best solution, and the one that had made him happier; the animals had been right about that, like they had been about many things (everything) in the end.

Then, he had been told to create the lunch service, which had brought him new, younger customers. It had been followed by a request to include vegan dishes to his menu, and that had been when Legolas had started frequenting The Esgaroth. A few months later, he had met Thranduil. From then on, though he hadn't realized it at the time, the animals' sole and only purpose had been to make him understand Thranduil was falling for him (and vice versa) but Bard hadn't seen it.

And it wasn't fate, or destiny, or being unable to say no. For Bard knew that even if he hadn't listened to them, Thranduil would have offered his help and he would have fallen in love just the same. The animals had no control over that. They had just helped them to spend time together, and from that they had grown to be friends, and then more.

And then, they had helped with that too, because Bard was really that helpless.

But he would never have met Thranduil if he hadn't taken on the restaurant. If he hadn't started a lunch service. If he hadn't agreed to add vegan options to his menu.

And so Bard wondered. He wondered if the animals had known, if their final purpose had been for him to meet the man of his life. He wondered how and why all this had been possible. If he was the only one who had experienced such a curious thing. But after much thought, he decided it didn't matter; what mattered was what they had now.

What they had now was their family.

Legolas and Bain were sitting at their feet and concentrated on the film they were watching, though they sent looks to their fathers from time to time to check if Bard had fallen asleep.

But he hadn't; he laid a fond gaze upon his family. On the boys, on Sigrid sitting on the other end of the sofa, then on Tilda, sleeping on Thranduil's lap.

Thranduil was asleep too, his head on Bard's shoulder and his breathing slow and steady. He was holding Bard's hand and his wedding ring was shining in the semi-darkness; his skin was warm and soft, but his grip on him stayed strong. Just like their relationship was, just like he felt, deep within his soul, that it forever would be.

There was one more thing that it all was.

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Fic completed on October 1st, 2015. I changed the publication date so it would be at the bottom of my works :))
> 
> So, this is it.
> 
> I'd like to say a huge thank you to everyone who Kudos'd and commented on this fic. It truly means a lot to me. <3
> 
> As it is the last chapter, comments are even more appreciated than usual. It's never too late to post one if you liked this story, and you'll make my day! :D 
> 
> And if you have any questions feel free to ask, I'll do my best to answer! :3
> 
> I can't believe this is the end of my very first fic. I re-read the first chapters a little and there are many things I would change if I could, but it's crazy how my writing has changed over the past nine months (for the better or the worst, who knows, eheh). It's been one hell of a ride and I've enjoyed every second of it (and I hope you did too :)).
> 
> Thank you to [Iza](http://http://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13) for editing this final chapter! :D
> 
> [Here's the graphic/aesthetic](http://breathingbarduil.tumblr.com/post/130264714894/the-last-days-of-winter-wonderfallsau-read-on) for this fic if you want to share it!


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